


Of Blood, Horses, and Hope

by Whiskawaybelf



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: F/M, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-20
Updated: 2017-04-10
Packaged: 2018-06-09 14:50:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 60,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6911608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Whiskawaybelf/pseuds/Whiskawaybelf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post-Battle of Pelennor Fields, the newly crowned King of the Riddermark surveys the destruction of battle, and mourns the sister he is not sure he still has. Post-Battle of Pelennor Fields a girl of Gondor searches every body for the futile sign of life, praying she can start to repay the debt she owes those that lost their lives.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Important notes: Mentions of blood, violence, physical harm, nothing too explicit but please keep yourself safe. No romance, just an exploration of connection and circumstances. 
> 
> Technically this is cannon compliant for both the books and the movies if we want to get fancy about it. 
> 
> If people enjoy this I would love to continue this as a series, but for now I consider it a completed work. Enjoy!

 

All the other women on the field worked in partners, like the washerwomen who handled the heavy linens in Meduseld, their hands were constantly busy, and they moved with a purpose that only those with unending work can have, a directness of path and a sureness of what would come next. If it had not been for the solemn silence that accompanied their work, unlike the songs and constant chatter that the washerwomen of home used to pass the time, Éomer might have been able to slip for a moment back to times that had been kinder to him. To seas made of grass and a family that was whole... and not these darkened days that had seen him become a new king longing to be with his sister, and having to hold himself still in a field made dark by the blood of his country-men.

 

He thought of Éowyn, her broken body taken past the gates of Minas Tirith to where he could not know her fate. He trusted the hands that healed her, but nothing could replace his presence at her side. He should be there, and instead he was here, giving orders with a dry mouth and wondering how they would ever recover from such a battle... how he might muster men- now _his_ men- to fight once more. He allowed himself a brief second of hope, perhaps this might be enough. It might have been enough to win this battle, to show the strength of men. The sun was hot on his back and it made his armour into a blacksmith's forge. He covered his eyes against the sun that was coming out now that the battle was over, and he cursed it. Craven coward, he wanted no sun today, for hope died just as quickly as it had sprouted and he wanted rain and darkness even if just for a second. It was hard to hope, knowing he might be the last of the house of Eorl.

 

He heard behind him a small groan of frustration. It shouldn't have been audible, but the owner of that groan must have been close to him, and unlike the women who worked in pairs, she was alone and struggling, unable to communicate with anyone else to tell them where more weight needed to be taken to help her pull the lifeless body she dragged from under a pile of rubble. Like the women around her, she was stained with blood both fresh and brown with the hours and like them, her face was grim and tired, her hair frizzing with heat and sweat.

 

Unlike those other women, she spent several moments by each body trying again and again to feel a pulse, a hint of a breath, trying to detect some sort of movement behind the eyelids that were shut and trying to prompt some in the eyes that had remained open. Éomer knew those that lived had been taken from the field as soon as the battle had ended, and he imagined that this girl did too. If his chest had not already ached, he imagined his heart might have broken for her, for the tears that had cleared some of the dirt and dust from her cheeks in clear lines, but there wasn't anything to break, so he watched her instead.

 

Her examination having yielded nothing, the girl was once again hauling the body gracelessly to a sturdy piece of wood, outfitted with ropes to help her pull it. It was a daunting task. She didn't look underfed and she wasn't as small as some of the women he knew, the body she pulled, however, was made boneless and heavy in death with no spirit to lift it and it must have outweighed her two or three times with the addition of armour. Éomer thought for a moment of moving to help her, but he found himself frozen, and exhausted by the thought, lost in his own mind and only mildly distracted by the struggles of some poor peasant girl who had been pulled to a task she would never have asked for. It wasn't until she managed to hold her make-shift stretcher still with one foot, and get the greater part of the man's torso onto it that he even thought to wonder why she, of all the other figures on the field, was working alone. She was not some great warrior wishing to honour his fallen friends, nor did she wear the grey wool of the priestesses who often tended to the dead as charity. She was odd in a way that his brain latched onto for needing something useless to occupy it.

 

Éomer was interrupted by another Marshal, a man high in the ranks who asked him to choose who of the dead would be buried... and who would be burned in the massive funeral pyres these women and men were making. It was not a choice Éomer wanted to make, but they couldn't drag two thousand bodies back to Rohan and bury them all with the honour they deserved, they could barely afford the men to keep watch over his uncle, King Théoden. _And Éowyn_ whispered his treacherous mind. Éomer shook his head and asked to see a list of the dead before any choices were made. He would only have a few hours, he knew. The Pyre of the Sacred Dead was set to light that night. The Enemy's dead were less consecrated. There would be no scented oils or prayers for them. Already three piles of corpses had been doused with crude oil and the bodies destroyed. No one mourned them.

 

A few of the silent Rohirrim still on the field and their Gordorian counterparts were roused from their thoughts at a shout from the girl. Her voice was hoarse and raw, made dry by her hours of work and silence. When no one came fast enough she shouted again and her cry was loud and commanding. It didn't sound like the voice of a peasant. Éomer saw her kneel and pull out a flask of liquid. Gently she cradled the head of a man of Rohan and offered him the flask, he drank too fast and she helped him turn and retch before again cradling his head and controlling the flow of water to his mouth in a thin trickle. A third time she yelled, and now Éomer came at a run followed by a few others. As he got closer her could see that the girl was speaking in a low, quiet stream to the man she held. New tears came from her and were staining his clothes now, and when the people she called didn't come fast enough for her liking, she began to try and help the man to his feet. Neither of them were in a state to stand that quickly and it was Éomer and a man of Gondor who ended up taking the weight, leaving the girl to find her own feet. She jogged to catch up with them as they hurried him to the city. “Stop, stop it! You'll kill him, you'll hurt him.” Again, Éomer was caught by the girl's voice. She spoke first in Westron, and her accent was soft and lilting, with a clipping of words that indicated a class higher than the one she put on for show. Then she repeated the words in Rohirric, halting and slow and with an accent more terrible than even Gimli's.

 

“You have to lay him down! He's got an arrow in his leg. If it moves, he'll bleed out.” The two who carried the man slowed their pace, and the girl jerked her chin to her stretcher but Éomer shook his head and and called for the a cart to be brought. Once she had been heeded, the girl grew quiet and resembled a small gnat slightly less. Unlike the sharp tone she had used on Éomer and Harbig, the Gondorian soldier who helped him, she spoke to the wounded soldier like he was a small child who she was calming after a storm. Éomer's Westron was rusty, but he understood that she told him the pain would be over soon, and when the soldier began to drift again into unconsciousness, she coaxed him to wakefulness, pleading and taunting in turn, even singing to him when he turned restless with pain. Éomer wondered if it was worth telling her that the man probably couldn't understand a word she said, but he stopped himself. The wounded horseman looked young and frightened and her words seemed to calm him. That seemed enough.

 

Finally a cart filled with weapons, but big enough for a man and lead by a team of two horses came to a halt beside them. All three of those who had charged themselves with this man's safety pulled the weapons from the cart impatiently, leaving them in the dirt to be organized again later and Éomer and Harbig sacrificed their cloaks to pad the wagon. Harbig agreed to drive the team of horses through the city, as he knew the city best and the three of them together would slow the journey. Thought she looked about to protest at first, the girl confessed that she could not do it, only knowing how to ride one horse and not willing to risk the life she had saved on pride.

 

Left in the dust of the cart, Éomer found the excitement had awakened him and he turned awkwardly to the girl and examined her properly while she peered further and further into the distance with a hand to shield her eyes, looking for all the world like she was wishing she could send herself as a bird alongside such precious cargo.

 

“You are not a peasant woman.” Éomer said at last, and she turned her head after a moment too long. He could see the muscles in her jaw tighten and then relax and she turned back to the horizon and shook her head.

He could see now that he was looking for it that her dress was plain, and an unflattering shade of pale yellow, but that the quality and fabric was expensive and well made. Or had been before the girl had used it so ill. The shabby apron she had put over it -probably stolen from the laundry or the kitchens- he noted, did not save from dress from the mud and dirt and blood and the countless other stinking things that covered fields of battle. She wore a hardly belt made of good leather, if soft with use and she had made her own holes to make the thing fit. On it was her water-skein, and a knife in it's sheath the quality of which he could not vouch for without seeing the blade. He caught sight of a small pouch as well only as the girl nervously fingered the opening and closing it before catching herself and shrugging his attention away like it did not bother her.

 

Her hands were bloodied, the skin too soft for the labour she had done, and he saw that she had tried to bandage the hands and continue her work... how long had she even been out here? The bandages would have to be removed and her hands scrubbed clean if she didn't want the sores to get infected, it would be painful and the good salves were being saved for the men coming from the field. Perhaps he could spare her some from his kit. It happened to all horse riders after holding the reins for days at a time, and the hands would heal and grow stronger but even the best riders could find their hands chaffed and he couldn't imagine that he would need the ointment more than her.

 

Her skin was tanned and darker than he was used to noble women having and her nose and cheeks were covered in freckles. Whatever her status, she was no stranger to the sun, and she did not shy away from hard work. “I should return to the fields. There might be more out there-”

 

Her Rohirric was truly awful, but despite himself, Éomer appreciated the effort. “We should tend to your hands before you lose them.”

 

For the first time the girl seemed to notice herself, she looked down at the bloody remains of what must have once been elegant long fingers and smooth skin, and she saw that her dress was soaked with sweat, her cheeks were still wet and she used the back of her hand to wiped them, only spreading the dirt and dust further. She shifted from foot to foot, noticing the discomfort and realizing where her shoes, mens boots and obviously stolen (how had he not noticed them?) and the wrong size had chaffed. She looked up at him, then at the sky. The sun had finally begun it's downward descent. She glanced back at him and after a moment of examining him, perhaps as he had examined her, she slowly and painfully sunk her tired body into a graceful bow. Nobility for sure, Éomer decided. Her voice cracked as she murmured, “Your Majesty.”

 

It was so painfully out of place that Éomer was stuck for a second. Should he return the bow? Should he offer this noble girl his arm, or would that offend her, after she had seemingly done everything in her power to hide her birth on this field? He compromised by nodding to her and pulling her up from her curtsy. Now that they had finished that little farce, she looked at him with a frank, open gaze. “You think I'm-” She faltered, searching for the word, and not finding it she shrugged, then gathered herself seemingly unwilling to let him think whatever it was he thought, and she started again. “I'm not pretending to be a maid to feel 'one with the people' or some other inane platitude.”

 

It sounded like she was trying to defend herself, though he couldn't imagine what attack she thought he would use. If a noble woman wanted to dwell in shit and blood, what did he care, she had saved a man's life, who would truly hold it against her that she did it in a borrowed apron?

 

“I don't see any other Ladies here helping you. Have they all gone to sup and left you behind?” She smiled at that, though he hadn't expected her to. With fingers that had gone stiff, she untied her water-skein and took a long sip before wordlessly handing it to him. He accepted it and finished what little water remained. Again there was silence between them as he held the skein and she seemed deep in thought.

 

“I'm not useless, you know. It was no use pretending I was, I'm a terrible pretender.” With the water, it hurt less to hear her speak. The ends of her words grated less, and her breeding became more obvious.

 

“This seems like a speech you've memorized.” What was she looking at? There was nothing more to see. The pyres had been stacked with the dead, the sun would go down in a bare few hours and the bodies would become ash. They would return to the earth they came from and if Men prevailed, then a cycle of life would begin anew and this battle would fade into legend.

 

“It's a good one.” She admitted, “I've been rehearsing it all day. I don't think anyone will truly be too displeased with me. There's so much of import happening and I've simply wandered off to a battlefield that has turned to a graveyard. It gave me something to do, scripting my speech, thinking about words is better than thinking of all those boys... Men, I suppose, sent off to die. How ever do you forget how terrible the eyes are?” More quietly, so that Éomer could barely hear, she whispered “Am I to see them every time I close my eyes?”

 

How indeed? The girl looked young. Under the grime, she couldn't have been much older than twenty. Probably the last time she had heard those lullabies she had sung, they have been sung to her. The air was turning cold and she shivered. Éomer reached for his cloak to give her before remembering that it had been given away already. He extended his hand to the girl and she took it this time, allowing him to lead her towards his horse. “Give me your speech then, Lady, I'll hear it.”

 

She cleared her throat and he laughed at the nod to formality, though it was short and rough and felt foreign in his mouth. Despite this little act, when she actually spoke it didn't sound like a speech. It sounded like words she had asked herself all day. It sounded like words she had used to keep herself moving when her muscles had protested. It sounded like the whisperings of a scared lady who had seen her personal hell, and felt the weight of her own helplessness, who had found a way to help and clung to it, despite how very small the task was. “Why should I watch from behind white walls? My Father and brothers were here, they fought... our kinsmen fought... my countrymen died. I cannot wield a sword but I can honour those who did. What's a little more blood to these grounds? They soak it up and ask for more. Why should I sit and feel the soft cloth of my dresses, and eat food that still has taste when children of Gondor were slaughtered because my Uncle failed his position. I am alive when many who are more worthy have died. I'll never repay that debt... and so, what is a little sweat and blood. What is a little subterfuge?”

 

Éomer lifted the girl to his horse and pulled himself up behind her, gripping the reins but letting Firefoot have his head and take them to the shattered gates of Minas Tirith. “Many have done less, Lady.”

 

“And many done more.” She turned to look at him in the saddle, “A debt is a debt Éomer, King.”

 

“You know my name.” He said, “And I do not know yours. I call you 'Girl' in my head, but surely there's another name your brethren call you.”

 

“You can call me Ella.” The way she said it made it seem like this was a temporary name for a temporary knowing, but perhaps it was her difficulty with his language that made it seem so. He felt her go stiff against him, the higher up the gates they climbed. He should have answered her. He should have agreed that a life debt is a great burden indeed, but one that she had begun to clear away. He didn't though. He didn't know how to say it.

 

“ _Lady_ Ella?”

 

“ _Princess_ Lothiriel.” That was a surprise. He had fought alongside her father, Prince Imrahil and knew the man and his sons to be honourable and skilled fighters. Imrahil had been the one to notice Éowyn yet lived, and had brought his men to aid his own. It did not surprise him that such a man had produced a daughter as stubborn as Ella, or one so lost in what her honour owed those who fought for the city and people she obviously loved.

 

“Why Ella then?”

 

“Would you like a name it took all morning and noon to say?” They were coming now to the top level of Minas Tirith, and if Ella had helped to navigate at all, perhaps they might have made it there before the sun fell, but as it was she was lost in thought and he was as well, and they wandered like two dreamers just awaking off Firefoot's back and into the newly cleaned castle. Servants came and clucked over Lothiriel like she was naughty kitten who had spilled some milk. Éomer couldn't quite believe his eyes and Ella submitted to the treatment mildly... or at least mildly enough. She snapped only once when a three more women came to join the whole disapproving mess, and with the sudden force of her own status, as if she had just remembered she had any, she sent all but one away.

 

“Be careful with her hands.” Éomer found his voice suddenly, “It'll hurt to take those bandages off.”

 

The single maidservant who remained bowed to him before leading Ella away. Éomer wasn't exactly sure how she did it so smoothly, since she didn't touch the princess, and certainly didn't take her hand. It seemed like habit more than anything else. Ella froze suddenly and spoke urgently to the woman, her voice growing sharp and brittle with need, before she finally got the response she wanted. Again he was struck by the tangible thread between Ella and the maid as Ella broke free and ran to him, her skirt hiked up to her knees. Though there had been no hands on her, it was like an invisible tether kept her from causing any disruption too large. Where she had been determined and self assured in the field, here she was a princess and was to behave as such. Only then she was reaching her hands out to take his.

 

“Mirella says your sister is under the care of Aragorn and Ioreth, she rests in the House of Healing on the Sixth Level with my kinsman, Faramir. She lives, Éomer, King of the Riddermark. Perhaps... Perhaps it is time to see her. There is no delay that will save you from pain.” Her hands gripped his tighter, though it must have hurt her, and her eyes searched his, “You will find what you find when you look upon her, go in peace, knowing she lives.”

 

He might have found the information himself. In fact, he didn't doubt that as King, the information would have been available to him the moment he asked to hear it but there was something in the way Ella gripped his hands, reminding him that delaying would not make the pain lessen in his chest, something in the way she had pulled away from her duty to make sure he knew. It felt like she was easing some of the debt she owed to those who had saved her city. It felt like she was giving him something small but very real. A little bit of her strength in exchange for a little bit of his. She understood his fear and didn't hide from it. He understood hers.

 

Perhaps there was hope, however small.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Adding a bit more to the story! This chapter is a bit shorter but I wanted to get it up quickly. More to come! If you like or have ideas or comments feel free to let me know.

When he saw Ella again she was in the Houses of Healing holding a tray with ointments and bandages very, very still, with the air of someone who had stopped moving simply to make a point. An older woman with a stern face was occasionally shifting Ella from one side of a cot to another side, trying to find the light that would make her job easier, and when Ella tried to comment, though Éomer could not hear it, he could see the woman shake her head impatiently and again Ella froze into her position of assistance. Frustration was radiating off the girl, but if the older woman noticed it, it was obvious that she could not have cared less. It took three more tiny variations on positioning before the healer was satisfied and finished stitching what looked like wide, but relatively shallow slash to to a man's arm. Curiously, Éomer watched as the woman bandaged the limb briskly and efficiently, paying no mind to a question that the princess tried to ask, then answering in one word or two, and finding her way to another patient while Ella turned red with the effort of keeping frustrated tears down.

 

If Ella was needed with the next patient, she had not been informed, and if she had been and she was staying stock still in rebellion, then it seemed Ioreth, the older Healer didn't feel like indulging her, and so Princess Lothiriel stayed where she was and held the tray perfectly still and in perfect line and did not move a muscle.

 

“My Lady.” Éomer inclined his head to the girl who didn't smile or even return the gesture. She was stubborn, it seemed, and her only response was a slight downcasting of her eyes before she glanced up again.

 

“I cannot move.” She said, as way of explanation. “I am to stand very still, and talk very little, and keep everything just so. I mustn’t even breath very hard, in case I should cause the instruments to fog.”

 

“I ask, then, what _are_ you doing?”

 

Her expression shifted slightly to some approximation of docility and her voice turned deadpan, almost earnest in her response. “I'm being incredibly useful, isn't it obvious?” Perhaps, he noted if she wasn't suffering, Ella couldn't accept that she might be contributing. She wore the same thick cotton robes as the rest of the healers, but unlike most of them, her's was pristine. Evidently she hadn't even been allowed to go close enough to the patients to sully her clothes. From the look of it, she hadn't been allowed to do anything but exist as a human shelf.

 

“Did you manage to break something?”

 

“No!” If she wasn't so awfully transparent, he might have thought he has offended her, but it was exasperation with the whole situation that he could hear. Rather than turning on him, she seemed to be saying _See? See! This is insanity. I haven't done anything_ wrong, _why then am I treated like this? Like a child of two who cannot do any more than carry?_ Her voice grew soft as she seemed to realize she was causing a disruption which was strictly against the instructions she had been given. “I just want to help.” She sounded lost. She caught his eyes and he saw pleading in there, anger, and a ravenous need. She just wanted to be worth something. To do something. It was that need that shook him. How could a desire for purpose seem so despairing? Éomer had seen that same devastation before and not heeded it and in consequence his sister lay here under this very roof. The two girls could not have looked more different and yet their eyes were mirror images.

 

“I am here to see my sister.” She hadn't asked, and while enough of his people still dwelt here that he could have spent hours wandering from bed to bed, it was Éowyn who took up most of his spare hours. She spoke now, sometimes when she found the strength, but more often she slept and dreamt dark dreams.

 

“I thought so.” For a moment Ella looked like she was going to move to walk him to his sister's side, but she thought better of it and again downcast her eyes as a sort of goodbye. As he started to leave, he saw her hold herself even more rigidly as Ioreth came looking for her. To her credit, the healer didn't try to fight the girl, or even chide her for her pettiness. If anything, Ioreth seemed not to notice the state she had driven Ella to, she was utterly focused, and it seemed that unless accompanied by blood or fever and screaming, she didn't notice much of people's emotional states. Ioreth gave the girl her orders and Ella nodded stiffly and went off to do another inane task that a small puppy with a little more enthusiasm might have accomplished.

 

Éomer did not have the luxury of spending the whole day with Éowyn. He had a meeting to go to and a dinner he was requested to attended after that. Today Éowyn seemed less troubled than usual, she breathed deeper and woke for longer periods of time. For the better part of three hours, Éomer recounted his day... something that she would have found dull before this war, but that now seemed to sooth them both. The minutiae of everyday tasks was a balm that covered what they actually ought to be saying to each other. “I love you.” “I blame you” “I fear for you” “I fear for the future.” “I cannot picture a world after this war.” It was hidden behind the mentions of what he had for breakfast and the endless parchments that Gondorian Generals thrust in front of him. “Nothing in Gondor gets done without paper.” He informed Éowyn, who had drifted back to sleep, “It's a wonder they have any forests... let alone animal skins left.”

 

From the corner of his eye he say that Lothiriel had been relieved of shelf-duty and had been handed a broom. From the look of it, the girl was focusing less on sweeping and more on making sure she made the effort to go to every single bed in the whole House. In every face she seemed to see someone she recognized, and even though many slept, she had a word for anyone who wanted it and those who didn't got two words, from the looks of it, something saucy and pert which seemed to help. It was almost a peaceful scene until Ioreth yelled.

 

Lothiriel bounded for the source of the scream... not so bitter that she could stop herself from attending to the woman who had been her commander all day, Éomer stood up to help too, but Lothiriel was quicker, like a cat that had been coiled up and ready to be called.. The problem was a pregnant woman. Where moments before the young woman had been returning to her bed, something had shifted and she convulsed in Ioreth's arms. The older woman struggled to keep from dropping the soon-to-be mother and it took both Ella and Ioreth to lower the woman to the ground. Without being told, Lothiriel began to push the cot away, then the chair that also presented a risk. A healer ran over with a wooden stick, but Ioreth pushed him away with a hissed curse. Didn't he know not to interrupt a spell like this? The body knew what to do, and no damned stick was going to help. Lothiriel grabbed a blanket and tried to get close enough to put it under the woman's head but Ioreth held her back. “Enough. You've proved you're not a complete idiot. Don't make me doubt you now.” With a quickness that Éomer would not have guessed, the old woman turned the mother on her side to help her breath and before too long it was over, and the House seemed to sign and returned to normal.

 

Ioreth put a hand on Lothiriel's shoulder, and spoke quietly to her. Éomer stood to get closer, “Go home, Princess.” Ella opened her mouth to protest, but the Healer put up a hand, “You've been here since dawn. Rest. Come back tomorrow and we can begin the real work.”

 

Lothiriel had finally tasted use and didn't seem to know when to give up, so Éomer took her arm, gently but firmly. “Besides, Princess. We have a dinner to get to. I hear it's important.” He tried to communicate that he was on her side. That he was trying to help her. In response she stared at him, like she had forgotten he even existed and her mouth opened and closed for a moment. It took another moment before she bowed her head both to him and to the healer.

 

“Of course. I'll return tomorrow.”

 

The last sunlight of the day caused them both to blink furiously, the Houses of Healing were left quiet and dark and cool, and the rest of Minas Tirith was anything but. Ella turned to him as they stood outside, “The dinner tonight isn't important at all, you know. The part that's important is the few moments when you walk in, and the few moments when you walk out. The rest is commenting on the food and trying not to fall asleep.”

 

He frowned at her, “That sounds like a waste of time.”

 

“It is.” She shrugged then glanced up to where they were both going. The city bustled around them, repairing, and mourning and living loudly. “Let's walk.”

 

Éomer nodded, Ella seemed to know more about how Gondorian politics worked than she imagined. To her it was a fact of life and dull beyond imagining, but this could be the difference to him between being respected as a commander, or his men becoming fodder in the next battle. He knew he had Aragorn's friendship but that did not translate to a whole city's respect. It did not translate into being a King.

 

“You'll want to walk in like it's your dinner.” He hadn't asked, but she had understood. She spoke casually, her blue-grey eyes scanning the city as she walked, she would occasionally turn to look at him to see if he was keeping up, but she didn't act like she was bestowing advice, there was no heart to heart here. She was merely talking and he was listening. “Not as if you hosted it yourself, of course, but certainly like you'd sit to an important meeting at home. It is not a special event, it is not an 'honour', it is a meal and you are participating in it, where you sit is your space, what you have to say is worth saying. It's not a family meal.”

 

In their way was a load of stones, covering the whole path and stacked high and wide... the remains of the battle, of the high towers that used to line this street. Éomer was sure there must of been a way around, but Ella started to climb over them and he was forced to come along. Her skirts made it harder than it was for him, and a few times he had to help her over a particularly daunting or unstable obstacle. Each time she would thank him softly and his hands would leave her waist or arm as quickly as they had found it, neither of them commenting on the propriety or lack thereof.

 

“After the meal, where you have comported yourself with nobility and a... weight of words, which is to say do not speak overmuch and make sure what you do say has a reason and a sense of import. I- Yes... so- after the dinner, the men will retire and the women will be dismissed. Only they won't call it that, but everyone will be separated. Pay your respects to the highest ranking woman in the room, calmly and without too much flourish, and hold yourself straight and with a sense of gravitas as you move into the next room. Know your rank, which is higher then most of the other men, and never forget it. They will try to make you trip- figuratively- you shan't, of course.”

 

Éomer nodded, thinking of his Uncle who had been able to hold a room with a single word. His cousin who had commanded his men with an inner strength that demanded to be followed. He felt young suddenly, and rough. He felt like a man plucked from battle and given a golden crown and told not to twist it out of shape. He glanced over at Lothiriel. Her hands were still bandaged though evidently doing much better as they danced in the air as she talked. Evidently a morning of silence had left her with no absence of words, she was positively brimming over with them. He got the feeling she wasn't often asked her opinion and then genuinely listened to and it bought out something beautiful in her otherwise pretty but nondescript features. She held herself straighter, she moved with grace and purpose, her eyes were alight and her cheeks and lips pink with the briskness of their walk. This was a woman who men would fight over. It was a pity that she got so little chance to show that part of herself. “Who is the highest ranking woman?”

 

She looked back at him and suddenly her face lit up with an impish smile, her eyes dancing. “Me.”

 


	3. Chapter 3

 

The beginning of the dinner was exactly as Ella had described it. Nothing logistically important was said, though the discussion was brisk and did not skip over the difficulties the city faced. Thanks to Ella, Eomer knew to give every man a greeting, and to clasp hands with each of them and introduce himself or remind himself to each while meeting their eyes. A few of the men tried to test his grip, adding more pressure to the arm than strictly necessary but Éomer had been raised among rougher and hardier folk. Or at the very least men who went ahead and hurt you if that was their intention. He made note of those who had aimed to push him. They were not to be trusted blindly.

 

Prince Imrahil was a handsome man with dark hair shot through with silver, his daughter's blue-grey eyes and the same olive skin which had the weathered look of a soldier. He had few lines to mar his features but the ones he did have were deep set in his skin. Éomer saw that some of the lines that were most prominent were the ones that came whenever the prince smiled, or when his eyes crinkled with warmth and that helped ease some of his worry. The Prince was trustworthy, and the men under his command, who were many and made up a good portion of Gondor's fighting force, were all loyal and true. This was a man that Éomer could work with.

 

He liked the many courtiers of Gondor's late steward rather less. These were men who had spent most of their lives catering tp a man that (he was assured) had once been a good leader. He wasn't sure about that. Denethor had abandoned Gondor's defences, tried to burn his own son, and seemingly gone mad. Éomer's uncle Theoden had not fared welll several years but that had been through cruel magic. Denethor seemed to have turned to madness and weakness on his own. Though, he thought, if he had been surrounded by these little men who spoke in accented voices, and carried themselves like delicate crystal glasses, perhaps he might be driven mad too.

 

Aragorn was dressed plainly but he presented himself to the men in the room as the heir of Gondor though not as a King. That was something most of the men present seemed to respect. Aragorn was a great warrior, and talk of his deeds was well and good, but he was not _their_ king. He was not their leader. Not yet.

 

Unspoken in the air hung a thought shared by all. In little time, there might be nothing to be King of left.

 

What Éomer had not expected, and certainly not been prepared for was the short, sharp bell that indicated the ladies would be joining them.

 

The women streamed in like colourful birds, all perfume and powders, and some with Kohl around their eyes. Éomer knew from Lothiriel that these women were often just as powerful as the men they had wedded or been born to. Éomer wasn't afraid of strong women. Rohan had it's share of Shieldmaidens and riders who could mount a horse without a saddle and out-ride a warg. This was different. None of these women knew how to fight, (Though Ella assured him that they all carried knives, just to be safe. Honour was everything.) These ladies of the court however, most often served as their family's ears. They listened to their own private collection of trusted voices and let even the highest ranking person know what the lowest ranking peasant knew and thought. The women of Gondor were also tasked with the writing and telling of tales. They were accomplished weaver, singers, writers, dancers. (“Indeed”, Ella had told him. “There is not much that we are not expected to perfect. It's arduous work, learning your family's genealogy.”)

 

Éomer searched the faces of the ladies, looking for the one he recognized but she wasn't there. Where on earth was the tied back hair and plain cotton dress?

 

He scanned through the small group again and narrowed his eyes, finally recognizing the plain girl from the battle fields as the delicate lady who took her Father's offered arm and ducked a quick curtsy. Her father pressed a fond kiss to her forehead, reaching up his hand to catch her chin and study her. Éomer couldn't hear what he said but could see the slight concern that crossed his features. To his surprise, Ella didn't shy away, or shrug aside his concern. She spoke earnestly to him, transformed into a calm, poised, perfect daughter. Strangely there was no lie in her eyes. She adored her father, that much was clear.

 

She was someone else entirely now, Éomer realized, or else she knew her role so well, it was near impossible to see where the mask started or ended. She must have done this a hundred times. She scanned the room and read it in a moment, saw something, and then with a barely perceptible nod began to walk her father to the table. If he had not been staring at her, Éomer might have missed this sign, but he couldn't have missed the swift migration to the table that happened as soon as this signal was given. He found himself opposite the table and several chairs over from Princess Lithiriel and wondered if she had planned this just so. The Princess glanced over at her father and something silent passed between them, she looked back to the people assembled and with something like a small breath she sat. Everyone else seemed to move in unison with her and Éomer found himself just a half second behind. He looked to Ella to see if she had noticed and she looked back just as boldly. Prince Imrahil had remained standing and he spoke a quick prayer and while all eyes shifted to him, Ella keep her gaze on Éomer. She pulled her curtain of hair over one shoulder and seemed to hide behind it to give him a bare whisper of a wink before shifting her gaze back to her father.

 

He had never seen her with her hair down, he realized. Her hair was dark burnished ebony turned liquid and long. Gondorian ladies loved to dress their hair in braids and curls and rolls and ribbons, something that Rohan women would have found strange. They preferred plain, simple styles that would not tangle. This was not a concern that Ella seemed to share. She wore a single braid like a crown woven through with a silver ribbon which disappeared like magic into the rest of her hair. Nothing could have been done about the freckles and darkness of the sun on her skin, but someone had attempted to draw attention away and down with wide, open neckline and a bodice pulled tight that ended right at the waist and let the rest of the dress bloomed out. In Rohan women rarely wore bodices and even more rarely were they so tight. Could Ella breath? Éomer noticed that she often shook her hair to keep it covering her chest and that she always had her arm or hand shielding her bright clothing like she was trying to hide it. Ah. There was the crack. He could see where the real girl was. She was comfortable being in charge, but not comfortable with all the dolling up that came with it. That was interesting.

 

“Father,” Ella turned expectantly to Prince Imrahil, her hands again unconsciously smoothing her hair down. “I don't think I've told you how King Éomer helped me with Lothian. That soldier. The one I told you about?”

 

So Prince Imrahil knew about his daughter's odd self appointed tasks. His eyes flickered up to appraise Éomer and he found himself caught in the man's attention. “No, little bird. I don't think you mentioned that part.”

 

“Prince Éomer was extremely helpful. He helped organize a cart to get Lothian to the Houses of Healing. He was the one who brought me home that day too. Did you know? And after having done battle and arranging command of his men. Isn't that exceptional, Father?”

 

“Exceptional.” The prince agreed. Éomer felt his face go hot, but he couldn't look at Ella. What was she doing? She must have some sort of plan but it certainly wasn't clear to him. Perhaps she was upset at him for pulling her from the Houses of Healing and siding with Ioreth. Could that be it? It didn't seem possible. Everything else she had told him had been true and helpful. She must have some sort of idea of where this was going, musn't she?

 

He realized he was expected to talk and gruffly he shook his head, “I did what any man would have done. It was your daughter who found him. He'd be dead were it not for her.”

 

“Perhaps.” The prince was not a man of many words and he did not waste them, he seemed to be looking into Éomer's very soul and trying to appraise the whole of his worth.

 

“I don't think it's what any man would have done.” Ella's voice turned slightly sharp before she caught it, and that same lilting accent returned. Conversations around the table were growing quieter. Everyone was still pretending to mind their own business, but they were all focusing on the three who carried this conversation. “In fact, when our Cousin Faramir was almost burned by his father, still alive, it was not 'any man' who saved him. It was a hobbit and a wizard. Outsiders to our city who did best by it. _I_ think it's a mark of a noble soul that all lives hold value. Don't you think so?”

 

Éomer saw that Ella was pointing these remarks away from him, her tone was light and conversational, maybe even curious. You could scarcely accuse her of insulting anyone without having to explain that she was being false and perhaps pretending to be stupid. Éomer understood what her game was suddenly. Yes, she was lifting him up, but she was determined to do so to bring down the men who had stood by silent while her cousin almost died. It was not a bad idea, but he didn't particularly want to be a part of it.

 

“Certainly.” Prince Imrahil took a small bite of something and chewed thoroughly, “But was it not also Beregond who abandoned his post to protect his captain?”

 

“Yes.” Whether she was doing it on purpose or not, Ella mirror her father and took a long drink of wine before continuing, “And Noble Beregond is rewarded, is he not? He has his life still, despite those he had to kill to save our Cousin, and he will go to battle with you as his commander. Is that not true? Honour deserves honour.”

 

“And so you propose we reward your King Éomer in the same manner? He has his own men to command. I do not think that he will wish to fight under mine.” The Prince's eyes crinkled with that same warmth and he looked to Éomer as if to say, _Isn't my daughter something else?_

 

This had gone too far, but Éomer wasn't sure how to intervene. He should speak for himself, and he wished he could kick Ella to silence her like he used to kick Éowyn when she told his secrets at dinner. “Indeed, Princess, I think you'll find my men would grow displeased with me if I should accept command under your father, noble though he is, and left them to another man to lead. A king should be with his people.” This gave him the opportunity to meet Ella's eyes. The table had gone quiet and everyone knew that this matter should be closed. That Ella should giggle and agree with her father and let Éomer know that she thought he was very good to care so much for his people. Instead, Ella picked up her wine glass and pretended to examine the contents. Her eyes didn't leave his, and though her tone didn't change, there was a slight tilt to her head that gave her the look of that little bird her father had named her.

 

“How silly you must think me.” Her lips turned up into a wry little smile, her tone said the opposite. Something had sunk into place just as she had wanted it to. “But you _do_ agree that a man should be rewarded. And what kind of reward, Father, is it for the King of Rohan to have his troops spread thin to serve as human shields for our own troops when next battle is upon us? It seems to me,” here her gaze turned dark and challenging as she swept the table, focusing on a few of the men, “That we, in turn, become as dark as our enemy when we so punish our friends who have paid dearly for a people who are not their own. How, then, Father, would you have me reconcile such uncivil behaviour?”

 

“I'm sure that's not-”

 

For the first time, Ella interrupted her father and she didn't seem to do it lightly, Éomer could see now that the girl was genuinely upset. “On the contrary, I have it under good authority that Lord Gathreo and Lord Lirium _and_ Lord Mestror had exactly that sort of plan to suggest. Not quite in those words, of course. I simply think it is most fair to all involved that we know who is in what standing... and exactly who each man here is. I can vouch for King Éomer. I have seen the nobility of my Father and the strength of Lord Aragorn and his companions. I cannot say the same for these men and their delusions of grandeur.”

 

This speech was met with silence. It was not nearly as awkward as Éomer expected it to be. Lothiriel had made a decent attempt at propriety but what she said should have shocked everyone at the table. Instead they all seemed somewhat uncomfortable but not surprised by her bluntness. Only the men she had pointed out and their peers seemed ruffled by her accusations, and their reactions varied between outrage, defence and pure speechlessness. Éomer saw the divide form. These were the outsiders to these rooms: the courtiers and their wives who had been invited as a nod to the new status quo. Those who seemed unperturbed were the ones truly welcome here. They were the trusted ones who knew Prince Imrahil, his sons and his hornet of a daughter. For truly, the grace that the gods had not given her, she had replaced with a brazenness only rank and the support of her father could allow.

 

Which left the question. Where did Éomer fit into this picture?

 

The dishes were cleared soon after and the women 'retired' and many guests made their excuses and left, though some of the closer family friends stayed a bit longer and talked with each other. Aragorn spoke to Éomer for a bit, promising him that if what the princess had said was true, then he would make sure see that it did not come to pass. The Prince, for his part said the same thing. Éomer felt the anger that had risen inside of him begin to abate. These were men of good character. He could trust them.

 

As he was about to leave, he saw Ella slip back into the room unseen and wait behind. Her father noticed her and led her gently to a window, the two looked out of it, and Éomer could hear only the faintest of conversations. Ella hadn't expected for guests to remain. She had combed out her ribbons and jewels and had returned to a simple dress.

 

The Prince did not seem too upset with his daughter, but neither did he seem particularly pleased and that, in turn upset Ella who protested the injustice of the information never seeing the light of day. Éomer was struck again by how emotional the girl was, or perhaps how little capacity she had to keep her emotions hidden and to herself. Without the powder, he could see red, hot splotches spreading over her cheeks and shoulders and back as she tried to keep herself quiet. The Prince took both his daughter's hands and gave them a gentle squeeze, calmly speaking to her and leaning down to kiss the top of her head. “Enough, little Bird. It is done. You've a good heart.” Ella took a deep shuddering breath and let herself relax.

 

“I got it from my father.” She agreed. “Who was said to be quite the hot-head in his own youth, coincidentally enough.”

 

Her father laughed and with the spell broken, they both became aware of Éomer trying to exit as quietly as possible. The Prince looked to his daughter. “Perhaps, Ellie, you ought to apologize to our guest for making him your bait. Then to bed with you.”

 

Ella nodded meekly and curtsied to her father, who left with an expression that was half bemused and half exasperated. From her corner of the large space, to his corner she called, “I am sorry. I didn't mean to make them all stare at you. I just wanted- I wanted them to know that they don't get to win.”

 

Éomer wasn't sure how to react to this. He felt frustration rise up, and with it some anger left over from the dinner and having spent a night only half understanding the language, the jokes, the conversation, and then being put in the spotlight. “Do you think I'm a fool, Princess?”

 

She frowned, “No. Not at all.”

 

“So, perhaps when I asked for your advice, you thought that meant that I could not manage my men, and my rule on my own?”

 

“That's not-”

 

“Perhaps you wanted to show how very smart you are.”

 

“That's not fair-” Those red splotches were back and she had her hands balled up into her skirt. She took a moment to regain her breath, “I wouldn't- It wasn't information you _had_. I had it.”

 

“Then you bring it to me. You do not announce to a table of my peers that I do not know how they want to use my troops.”

 

“But I-”

 

“And you assume I have the intelligence to handle the situation myself.”

 

“I was trying to help! I was trying to show that I could be helpful. That I might have use...”

 

“To who? Your father? By putting a target on my back?”

 

“No! To you. I wanted to show _you_. No one would have said 'King Éomer, may we lead your men to slaughter?' They would have told you how strong your troops are. How important their horses and how that makes you the battering ram that would break enemy lines and lead the way for the rest of the armies. They would have made it seem full of glory and honour and it would have been _lies_.”

 

“I know battle!” He surprised himself with how hot his anger got. It always simmered low in his chest. A furnace of anger and drive and determination. If he was being honest, it wasn't just Ella he was mad at. He just wanted to be angry at someone. “I know battles. I have fought them since I could ride a horse and swing a sword of a proper size. I don't need you to protect me. I am a King. I can smell their lies as well as you.”

 

“I'm not protecting you!” Éomer felt the soft thump of her slipper hitting his chest. He had not ever in his life had someone throw a shoe at him. Not even Éowyn. Not even Theodred. “I'm being your friend. I'm _trying-_ I'm trying to be your ally here in Gondor. To make you allies with my Father. _”_

 

“And why would you do that? I didn't ask you to.”

 

“No. You didn't.” Ella came closer and looked up at him, finding his eyes and keeping them with hers. It was a disconcerting habit of hers that he doubted he would ever get used to. “But if Men have a future. If there is a chance for a world after this darkness, then I would like it to be a world with good men in it. A world with _you_ in it.”

 

“I am not your friend.” Éomer didn't know what to say, but the moment he spoke the words he felt himself grow suddenly cold. Truth was, he wasn't sure it mattered whether he was friends with Ella or not. The army would march within days, and unlike her, he wasn't sure there was a future for men at all.

 

“No. I suppose not. But I'm fond of you all the same. I would prefer a world that had you living in it.” Ella curtsied to him. If she was very upset by his words, she refused to show it. She nodded to him one last time, her face unreadable, and then she walked quickly from the room and left him there. They might not be friends, but he felt it was very like her to find a way to get the last word.

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope everyone is enjoying the story so far. We're two chapters away from the halfway point.

 

Ella avoided Éomer when he arrived to the Houses of Healing late in the night four days later. She did not meet his eyes when he walked it. There was even a moment where she was sent over to Éowyn with a sleeping draught and several tinctures and Ella managed to place the tray down, give all the instructions for the order of drinking each thing on the tray, and wish Éowyn a good night without ever acknowledging Éomer.

 

For his part, he had been doing the same. One of the reasons he had come so late to see his sister was his hope that the princess would have been sent home from the infirmary by then. Éowyn laughed at him, No she said, the princess was making herself incredibly useful and slept in a cot in the back between work. Ioreth was tasked with making sure any of the men who could could march to Mordor were ready to do so by the end of the week and Ella worked as her personal assistant. Lothiriel was still not allowed to set bones or stitch wounds, and she was absolutely not allowed to brew anything that humans were expected to drink, after all one did not become a healer over night. Despite this, Ella kept the accounts and managed inventory. She helped soldiers and civilians with their simpler problems, and with the madness of battle again on the horizon, there was no end to the tasks she could find to busy herself.

 

Furthermore, when Ioreth _did_ attempt to send Ella home, the girl would go to her cousin Faramir and spent hours just talking to him, half laying on a wooden bench with her head on her elbow as they reminisced about some prank either of their brothers had played on the two of them, who were the youngest of the family. Once Faramir drifted to sleep Ella would present herself ready to work again.

 

 _She's working off a debt_ Éomer thought. From a distance he could see she was pale and dark circles seemed permanently etched into her skin. Her smile didn't come out at all. Not even for those she liked the most.

 

Éowyn told him that Ella had introduced her to Faramir, “Who is half in love with me.” But she admitted she liked the man. He was kind and well spoken, and when Éomer wasn't around, he was good to pass the time with. Both of them were almost done their healing but from such grievous injuries that it would not do to march with the rest of the armies. “We're the left-behinds.” Éowyn said with only a hint of bitterness. “How go the preparations?”

 

Not too badly, he wanted to say, but some of these men are worms. They want more and more and more and they do not care for our beautiful country. Rohan might as well have been another world to them. He had grown to hate the debates that happened at almost every meeting. He had grown used to jumping to his feet in anger, only to have someone pull him down again. They called him the Lion at times but he did not take it as an insult. “We leave soon.” He said instead.

 

He heard Ioreth again call to Ella, and again the woman dismissed her for the night. “Your father hasn't seen you for three days, Princess. Your brothers thought I had hidden you in some cupboard and locked you in. You'll be twice as useful once you've slept.”

 

Ella shook her head, “Faramir needs me.”

 

Ioreth was having none of it. “He doesn't. He worries too.”

 

Ella shook her head again but seemed to acquiesce, “Let me bid him good-night then.”

 

An hour later, she was still not gone. Faramir was half asleep and it was obvious that Ella was keeping him from slumber though she also looked poised to drift off. Her hair was down and hanging off the bench, while she made herself small to keep from falling.

 

The first three of the tinctures made Éowyn drowsy but did not quite lull her to sleep. Both Éomer and her had grown still by then though, hand in hand, companionable and warm and silent. It was deep night and the Houses were quiet. He could hear Faramir and Ella whispering to each other.

 

“You look as though you fight Sleep himself, cousin. Let him win, I beg you, for both our sakes.”

 

Ella smiled softly at Faramir, but she shook her head. “I've had such terrible dreams, cousin. Such darkness, and such terror. Bid me sleep, and I fear I'll never be free of it. It will consume me and I'll never wake again.”

 

“Forgive me. I need to rest.” He reached over to his cousin and offered her his hand.

 

“I could never be upset with you. Much. Not terribly upset, at least.” Ella sighed and pressed his hand to her lips for a moment before letting it go.

 

Despite her protests, she soon fell asleep, her hand hanging over the bench to graze the ground, and herself only a sudden movement from falling entirely from the make-shift cot. Éomer stood to leave but was caught by the sight of her. Her brow furrowed and relaxed and she moved, causing the bench to tip then settle. She whimpered, reaching her other hand blindly for something that did not exist.

 

Ioreth caught him watching her. “Take her home if you head that way, Your Highness. She is useless to me until she manages to keep her eyes closed for the rest of the night. I was aiming to get her to drink some poppy milk, but the damned girl hasn't drunk a thing all day that I've seen.”

 

He was not headed that way. He was headed to a pub with Gamling, the Gondorian Soldier from the battlefield, but he was late as it was, and Ella was not a heavy burden. He would be only a half hour later. What was a half hour?

 

She protested sleepily when he lifted her from the bench, but she quickly quieted back into his arms. At least this way her limbs were supported and that was enough to keep her still. He couldn't exactly put her on a horse so he was forced to walk her all the way to the Prince's quarters, past the mountain of rubble they had climbed which had now been cleared, and past the entrance where her maidservant had met them and chided her.

 

Amrothos stood in the hall outside the Prince's house, his arms were crossed over his chest but they uncrossed once he saw who it was. “We saw you coming up the path. Has she finally worn herself out?”

 

“She clung to waking like a lioness to her prey. I was half worried she would wake when I lifted her and claw me for my trouble.”

 

Éomer liked Amrothos. He was a man grown and the youngest of Prince Imrahil's sons which gave him that same impishness that Ella had. As the third son, he knew he would not inherit much, no titles, no commands, but this did not turn him bitter. To the contrary of all The Prince's children, Amrothos was the kindest and brightest, the sort of man who made others happy simply being being around them. Amrothos would have no trouble finding a position in the city. He was well like by the rich and poor alike.

 

“It was good of you to bring her.” Amrothos held out his arms for his sister and Éomer stepped closer to pass her over but the moment they shifted her weight over to Amrothos, she began to stir and quickly they stopped. It took a second, but Ella settled again. “... Perhaps I will show you to her rooms...”

 

Éomer had the sneaking impression that this did not align closely to the 'propriety' that Gondor seemed to love. He had been in women's rooms before, he and Éowyn had shared their room until he had become a man. There had been women in Rohan that he liked and he had been in those rooms too. When he and his men had travelled, they would sometimes have to sleep in bedrooms whose occupants would sleep in the main halls or kitchens.

 

Amrothos didn't seem to find a problem with it, but then again, Ella was his sister. He spoke quietly to

Éomer as they walked, but he seemed to be describing someone that Éomer had seen only glimpses of.

 

“She's been a bit ridiculous since the dinner. Father thinks that she regrets her actions, not that she'll admit it. She's apologized to no one, and asserted that her sources are good. Barmaids, serving girls, cup bearers, all her little spies and she trusts them and will not name them. Of course there was some outrage, and our little bird told them to stuff it and disappeared to the healing houses. It's left a mess for Father, but with our marching orders so near, I imagine her timing could not have been better, this will be forgotten, as all little things are in the eye of destruction.”

 

Éomer looked down at the sleeping girl. She didn't seem unmarred by the trouble she had stirred up, her face was drawn and pulled tight with worry even in sleep. It almost made him regret the harshness of his words. Was this why Amrothos told him this? So that his sister might earn forgiveness? In truth, Éomer had forgiven the girl. Or rather, perhaps with the rest of his command so heavy on him, he had let go of what might have once been a grudge. She hadn't exactly been _wrong_ and though the manner of her plan has been too public by half, it had put in the open what everyone had wished to hide. He could appreciate that, even if he didn't have to like it.

 

“I didn't think anything would make her grow up.” Amrothos was still talking as he opened the doors to Ella's rooms, and then another set into her bedchambers. “And now she is as old as the stones of our city. I would give anything to see her smile again.”

 

Éomer looked up sharply, was that the thought of brothers everywhere who had failed to protect their sisters from the horrors of these times?

 

“You put words to my mind's thoughts.” He said quietly as he set Ella down on her bed and stepped quickly away.

 

Amrothos fixed her covers and tucked the blankets under her feet and around her shoulders. “Our brothers are wed and their own children and duties concern them. Their own families grow strong. Ella and I have always been together, the youngest with the least import. I would take responsibility for her pranks and she for mine and we would bring dinner to each other when we went to bed without.”

 

Éomer saw that sadness passed over Amrothos face. It was not an expression the man wore often, and never one that lasted this long. Perhaps the shadows made him feel safe to show it.

 

“I was set to wed a maid from Osgiliath, you know. She was fair and rich, and carried sunshine in her hair like a crown. I thought 'now Ella will be alone, but... she'll marry soon and understand.' I did what my brothers had done before me, and waited for my wedding day, waited to see how I would grow up. How the last of our family would grow up.”

 

Éomer knew that Amrothos was not wed and there had been no talk of betrothals. Perhaps the wedding had been delayed.

 

“She died in the attack.” Amrothos turned from his sister to answer the question that Éomer did not ask. “Our brothers could not come to mourn with me. Only Ella. Men would tell me it was good that our wedding had not come to pass. That I had not learned to love her before her death. Ella locked our doors against such men and made the dogs bark when they approached. She understood. We love those who our heart compels us to love whether we have known them for years or for moments. It was the response of a child. Of children. We locked out anyone who disagreed with us.” Ella murmured in her sleep and turned in the bed, causing the blankets to twist around her legs. “She sleeps in darkness now. She fears for us. For our city. For her family. She senses that which is evil and makes herself hold it tightly so it might not touch others. I would do anything to lock out that darkness for her.”

 

He cleared his throat. He knew brothers must exist who would not step in front of their sisters if an arrow came towards them, but he did not think he would care much for those sorts of brothers. Éomer put a hand to Amrothos' shoulder and invited him to drink. 'Your ale is water compared to ours, but if we drink enough we may yet find some peace.”

 

 

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I keep forgetting to update on here, there are 12 chapters currently completed so I'll try to add two every week until this story is up to date.

**Notes: Chapter 5! we're almost at the halfway point for the story. I hope you're enjoying it!**

Éomer and Amrothos leaned heavily on each other as the sun rose bright into the sky. Both men were in that sweet place between blinding drunkness and the sharp pains of the morning after and it felt good. The path back to the Prince's quarters was suddenly far steeper and filled with so many more obstacles than they remembered there being before. Three times now, at various points in the night Amrothos had suggested sleeping in a particularly lush crop of grass and three times now Éomer had refused and kept dragging the prince along to the next pub, the next girl, and now up a hill.

They groaned though as they recognized the figure trotting down the path, her cotton robes replaced and clean not five hours after they had left her.

"Gods damn you, Sister." Amrothos was laughing and he lurched from Éomer's side to pull his little sister into a bear hug that made her almost disappear into his arms. "Would another few hours have killed you?"

"The gods like me." Came her muffled voice from inside her brother's arms. "They say to me every morning, 'Off with you Ella. Off you go. Sleep no more, the world cannot manage much longer without your presence. I can't exactly deny the gods, can I? No. No I cannot. I am sacred, I am. Oof. You smell. Gerroff. Off, I said!" She started to giggle as her brother stumbled back and almost lost his balance. "I suppose you're to blame?"

Éomer found himself caught off guard as, for the first time in five days, the princess addressed him directly. Her tone was shy, and her eyes didn't wander any higher than his cheeks. Still, it wasn't the worst thing to come from a night of drinking. "I won't take the blame, but I'm not entirely sure my being there was a... barrier... of any sort."

"Yes... well... I have to get to the Houses of Healing."

Éomer felt himself start to sort of list to one side as Ella watched helplessly. "Then get yourself there, princess. We've a meeting to attend." More meetings. Éomer was getting damned sick of meetings.

"You certainly aren't. Amrothos, tell King Éomer that you are not going to any meetings in this state."

"I personally don't see what the issue is." Amrothos had found a nice rock to sit on and become very comfortable there, closing his eyes and tilting his face to the sun.

If she was being honest, Ella wouldn't usually have cared much either. From the meetings she was allowed to watch she know meetings were dull and one meeting tended to undo the decisions of the last, but this would be the last meeting before the March on Mordor which meant all the decisions would stand. This is where all the plans would be laid bare. "Back to the keep with you both. C'mon. Come _on_."

Her voice was shrill and bothersome and both men started moving to avoid it. Ella kept one arm around her brother's waist and once in a while would have to reach over to grab Éomer's sleeve to keep him from wandering too far from the path. Eventually Éomer got tired of her tugging and focused a bit more on where his feet were planting.

"When is this meeting, anyway?" They were only two levels away from the keep but that happy buzz from the ale was starting to morph into annoyance and thirst and a niggling headache.

"At the eighth hour."

Ella looked thoughtful for a moment. "You should be almost fine by then. You have two hours until the clock strikes... besides, I bet I can delay it."

Amrothos glanced over sharply at the girl, remembering how her last plan had gone, most likely. "We can't exactly tell the men who run our city that we were out drinking all night. I hope that wasn't your idea."

"No..." Ella glanced up at Éomer, meeting his eyes for the first time in what seemed like years. "I can ask father to delay it. Tell him I have some information that he needs to know. Or that I have information you need to know. And... that I am learning from my mistakes and would prefer to tell you both in confidence to do with the information as you will."

He had to admit, it was a good plan. It reminded the men that the princess had made a mistake and it would draw the attention to her and not to her brother and the King of Rohan. He wasn't sure why this meant so much to Ella but she seemed determined not to let them go to the meeting without some sort of interference. She must know. She must know this was the final meeting before the march.

"You're well informed, Princess."

"I pay good coin for it, King. Nothing is without it's price, and I care too much for my family to know only half the story for the sake of saving a bit of gold."

Gondor was so strange. In Rohan, a King and some of the higher lords might have a spy master of some sort, but it was not considered a position of high esteem. These men worked with whispers, not swords. In Gondor, the women commanded the whispers, and you could tell which family was most powerful by how much they knew. There was nothing that was not determined in the shadows before it was discussed in the light of day.. In Dol Amroth, she had not needed to be nearly as quick to gather the sources, but here, everyone knew that she knew all that they hoped she did not know. She kept her sources exceptionally well hidden, and because they knew they were safe, those same sources returned to her. What would a girl like Ella do in Rohan? He wasn't entirely sure why the thought came to him, but it was there in the back of his mind. He wasn't sure what would bring a girl like Ella to Rohan in the first place, but once there... how would she fare?

"You find it distasteful." She winced but her tone was even, "I can only imagine how you settle things in Rohan. Horse races, I imagine."

He glanced at her, only to see that she was joking. He grinned, a proper big grin that took over his face.

"First one to Fangorn Forest and back."

"I heard Fangorn was haunted." Now that she had gotten a drunken smile from him, Ella seemed to relax. Her gait got a bit more swing into it, and she turned to look at him more often. Did she really find him so intimidating?

"You do not _enter_ the forest. No, then you are sure to lose."

"We can't have that!" That was Amrothos, who was invested in winning horse races because it was less boring than the other options.

"Certainly not!"

They had reached their quarters and Lothiriel sent Amrothos to his room, then appraised the King. "You'll have to sleep here for a few hours. I'll have food and water brought, and I'll come wake you when a new time is arranged. Follow me."

The princess set a brisk pace. Éomer had not seen much of the palace before, but she seemed to know every corner. He thought he recognized her room from the night before, and then found that they were ascending to a whole extra floor. Ella found the door she was looking for and opened it a crack. The room was decidedly plain and while the bed looked comfortable, it was not made. The jug beside the small bowl that served as a wash basin was empty. Ella looked embarrassed to put him in such a plain room. Éomer was about to reassure her when she interrupted him "I'll bring some sheets and water."

Before he had a chance to stop her, she bolted from the room. He sat on the bed and waited, and when she did not return promptly (the linens and kitchens were down several flights of stairs) he found himself falling asleep on the bed.

He was vaguely aware of cool hands putting a blanket on top of him and of the sound of clay on wood, but mostly he slept. Long nights turned into longer mornings the closer to marching the army became, and sometimes he went without any sleep in between. He had to admit that getting some time to rest was better than having gone to the meeting at the time it was scheduled. Sleeping was a release that he did not know he needed, he had not realized the drink had not done it's job.

The sun was descending when Ella nudged him awake. "King Éomer. King Éomer." She held a glass of water in one hand and pushed him with the other. "You've an hour before the meeting. You have to wake up."

"I only need a half hour to get ready." He groaned the whole way to sitting upright, reaching out for the glass that Ella offered, "It's late. Very late. How did you manage that?"

She grinned at him, obviously pleased with herself, "I gave Father an awful lot to think about."

Her dress was dirty enough that she must have spent some time in the Houses of Healing but her hands and face were clean and her hair pulled into a plait threaded through with flowers.

"You look nice." He wasn't sure why he said it, it didn't matter how the princess looked, what mattered was what she told her father. Her smile turned shy though and there was something awfully charming about that.

"I have to help plan the parade for tomorrow. For the troops. The last one was dreary and morbid. This one..." Her face fell, but she managed to gather herself and meet his eyes, "This one isn't to be a celebration but there must be hope in it. There _must_ be. We cannot have another funeral march."

Now that they were friends again, Éomer was allowed to observe her closely, and he again found her odd and captivating all at once. Ella clearly did not want the troops to leave, but she also did not want to burden them with darkness so she pushed for hope, for life. There was a manic energy to her, like him, she was strung too tight. She simply could not let her city down.

"I spoke to Father." She didn't seem too bothered by the fact he was staring at her. Perhaps she was glad he had taken up the habit too, "Faramir is almost well. Certainly well enough to take over the Stewardship of Gondor. That frees up many of our Swan Knights to join in the fight in Mordor since his own men will hold the city far easier than our men could. They know it better. Furthermore, I have it on very, very good authority that Lord Destros had built a tunnel from his house through the mountain. That means we can free up even more men, and have our strong archers keeping watch. If- if the worst should come and we must leave the city, we will have a safe route. From there we will go to Rohan with your sister. If we are not safe, even there, then we will call upon the generosity of the Dwarves... I suppose. But!" She came to standing, offering him a hand to pull him off the bed. "What it all means, is a significant addition to the numbers of troops. Your men- our men- they won't be spread so thin."

Ella looked for a moment to be so full of light that Éomer could not bear to tell her how futile their mission really was. He didn't want to. He wanted her to hold on to that light, to always be looking at someone with that sense of... something. There was something there... a sense of contentment, maybe. Of hope. He remembered Amrothos' words yesterday, but he wasn't doing it to be friend to her brother. He was doing it because he wanted her to be happy.

"That's very good, Princess. Very well handled." He took the offered hand and came to his feet. He saw that someone had brought him a change of clothes and moved towards them.

He turned his back to Ella, but not quickly enough to miss her frowning. "You're lying to me. It's not well handled. Something is wrong."

He pulled his shirt off, shaking his head slightly. "T hat's not what a meant. I'm just-" but now the girl was frozen in one spot, her eyes lowered. Éomer couldn't quite gauge what might have prompted that reaction. She wasn't upset, exactly but she wasn't comfortable either. He looked around the room to try and find what had shifted her focus so completely only to realize that aside from her own brothers perhaps, it wasn't likely that Ella had ever been alone with a man who was in any state of undress, even one as basic as this. "Sorry, Princess-"

"I'll just wait outside." For the first time that Éomer had known her, Ella blushed fiercely and flew from the room.

He couldn't help it, he laughed as he finished changing, seeing again the wide eyes and deep red that had spread over the girl's cheeks. He looked around the room for the glass of water and the basin, all prepared with soap. He washed his face and hands, and then, just to get rid of the fog still wandering in his head, he dunked his whole head in the water. He didn't think any man had ever come to a council meeting with wet hair, but it was past the point where he actually cared about that part of it. He wrung out the extra water and dressed himself in borrowed clothes.

Ella was waiting outside the door, impatient and shifting from foot to foot. Once he emerged, she tossed an apple at him, looking wonderfully composed if you only bothered focusing on her from the shoulders up. "Eat this. We can grab some more food if you're hungry."

He was, but a whole meal would take more time than they had. "I could eat more than an apple."

Ella produced another apple and a bread roll that looked to be filled with something. "Lucky for you then."

She was being careful around him now, being just a bit too pert and keeping a perfect amount of space between them; like if she moved an inch too close the servants would know that things had been improper for a moment and call her forward to atone.

He couldn't decide if he minded. The truth is, whatever was happening in Lothiriel's mind, it was of no importance compared to what was to come. Indeed, he knew that he should not let himself be distracted, and if a little more space between them, and a lack of misunderstandings could keep him focused, then that was for the best. Princesses in Gondor seemed to live such sheltered lives, it was no wonder they grew restless and looked for any distraction at all. It was no wonder they because so defiant and so odd. How had Ella crafted herself into what she was, when she was surrounded by gossip, and pretty dresses and needlepoint?

"I don't see why pretty dresses and needlepoint make me less than any warrior. When you lot go to war, who do you think it is who keeps everything running as it should?" She snapped. He had spoken his questions out loud to her, and she forgot her discomfort to give him a dirty look. "Besides, I like weaving. Needlepoint is tiny and no one appreciates it despite the hours it takes and you all really should. Weaving is better. You make cloth. Like the shirt you're wearing, for example... You think, because I've drawn no blood, because I've fought no wars, and been treated kindly my whole life that I have not lived. That I'm a blank canvas."

"You've never left Gondor, my lady."

"And you had barely left Rohan, before we called for aid."

"You've known no different thoughts than those of your nobility-"

"And you? How have you been formed so different from me? We are both noble, are we not? You've drawn blood and defended your family. I've discredited those who would hurt mine, and though they did not bleed, they suffered nonetheless. Your sister is not stronger now that she has worn men's clothes, than she was when she wore a dress. She is strong regardless. I am not less myself because stone walls have kept me safe. I am not the bud of a flower. I am fully bloomed. You need not care for the scent."

Was she trying to pick a fight simply for the sake of it? Perhaps because he had seen her blush? He didn't have time to ask, she shoved a tunic at him, embroidered beautifully and nodded towards a set of doors. "Well... go on then, Your Majesty. You've the fate of Men to argue out. I hope for our sake you don't forget the ones who stay behind to wait."

"Ella..." She looked about to walk away but at her name, she crossed her arms and turned to him. "I didn't mean to offend you."

"I'm not offended." she shrugged, impatiently pushing her hair behind her ear. "I just thought... perhaps in a King who cares as much as you do- That is to say..." she tripped over her own words, her mind trying to order her thoughts without starting another fight. "That is to say, I had hoped you might have seen that those of us without swords are not without value. That, indeed, we might be as good a match as any for those who can shed blood at will. I _had_ hoped to prove that to you."

He narrowed his eyes, torn between picking apart what Ella might actually mean, and drawn by the voices on the other side of the wall. "You're a Princess of Dol Amroth. One of the highest ranking ladies in all the land, should your father and brothers fall, command of that city will fall to you. You need prove yourself to no one."

She considered this information and seemed to really think about it for a moment, she grew completely still as if it took her whole body to process the idea. "Perhaps... If only that were enough." she nodded to him and turned to leave, her shoulders stiff and her hand tight against her sides.


	6. Chapter 6

“Are you worried?” The princess paced the dining hall from one long length to the other, her face gone pale and her hair dropping it's wilted flowers along the path. The men had slept but she had not. In her arms she was carrying her brother's child. The baby looked up at her with big, wide eyes but did not cry out. As if to say, “yes, I am. But not so worried as you are.” 

Elphir, the oldest of her brothers already wore his armour. His wife was in his arms, her head tucked into the crook of his neck. Their twin children, a boy and a girl of six years were looking small and younger than their age, holding their mother's skirts, the boy with his thumb in his mouth, and the girl crying softly. Elphir had the same stern, lined face as his father but with the same softness as he spoke quietly to his wife and children. He held all of them closer and tighter as the hour grew closer to dawn but none of them protested his tight grip.

Erchirion, the middle son was being helped into his ring-mail by his own wife, a sturdy woman who lifted the heavy mail like it was a bed sheet, and who would not let the servants help. She was big with their second child, and it was their first born who Lothiriel held in her arms. After Erchirion had pulled on his coat, he held out his arms to his sister, who stopped her ritual of worry just long enough to kiss the head of the child and give him to his father. Then she began again. 

Amrothos was helped by servants who quietly dressed him, taking extra care to polish anything that did not gleam, and who fussed over him like he was their own child, though he towered over most. It was Amrothos who replied to Ella, and who stopped her infernal progress and pulled her into his arms, “There is but one path. At least we shall not grow lost.” and from inside his arms, her cheek pressed uncomfortably against sharp metal, Ella giggled wetly, trying desperately not to cry in front of her brothers. 

Éomer stood, fully dressed with Éowyn beside him. He felt like an outsider here, witnessing a family scene that he had no right to interrupt, but he and his sister had been invited to break fast with Imrahil's family, and so they both looked to each other, growing less and less comfortable as the minutes ticked by. 

“Your Majesty, Princess Éowyn.” Ella pulled herself from her brother's arms, wiping at her cheeks. “Pardon us, we're...” She trailed off, gesturing to this scene helplessly. She offered a hand to Éowyn who took it, and led her to the table, offering her a seat. Éomer followed, but he did not sit, only stood behind his sister, his hands protectively on the back of her chair. Ella stood still for a moment which seemed to take a great deal of effort and she poured two glasses of water, offering one to Éowyn and then one to Éomer. Her eyes met his, “I do hope you'll forgive us our dramatics. We're all rather prone to it.” 

Erichirion added helpfully, “It's what comes of being descended from Elves.” 

Amrothos laughed, a sharp bark, but that was enough ease the tension a bit. Elphir's wife finally removed herself from his arms, her face red and swollen, and she reached down to her children. “Childen, your Grandfather is going to be late as usual. Shall we get started eating?” 

The children nodded, tiny smiles breaking out on solemn faces and they rushed over to the breakfast spread, grabbing at the sweet things with tiny sticky fingers. Ella giggled and swatted them away like flies, “Little savages. Brother, you're raising savages. Do you not feed them? Do you deny them their daily allotment of chocolate? Sit. Sit, little monsters. C'mon now. Come along. Sit down and you can eat.”   
She lifted the lighter of the trays and brought it to the table, then went back for the other. “Amrothos, come help me.” 

“I can't.” Amrothos had one of his arms up as the shoulder guard was being repositioned repeatedly. “You'll have to come feed me by hand.” 

“I'm certainly not doing that.” Ella looked around the room, her eyes settling on Éomer and she bowed to him slightly. “Your Majesty?”

Éomer squeezed his sister's shoulder and nodded, coming to help Ella. He wasn't sure why she asked for help, he knew she didn't really need it. He had seen her lift a man's body onto a board and drag it for a far longer distance than the the steps it would take to bring the tray to the table. 

“I hope,” she said softly, as she arranged, and then rearranged the various cups and spreads and utensils on the tray, “that we are still friends. I was not fair yesterday. I was not kind. I took offence where I do not think you meant any.” 

Éomer set down the tray, reaching over in turn to add some more weight to it, and then to pull into chaos what the princess had just settled. She grinned, hiding it behind her dishevelled curls. “I spoke badly, and without thought. I would not have us part as enemies. I think, there is still a great deal our countries do not know about each other.” 

Ella nodded and she added to the chaos of his design, then she paused, picking a flower that had not yet lost it's sprightliness from her hair and tucking it under a layer of cloth on his sleeve. “My family has a flair for dramatics, if you have not heard.” 

Without thinking of it he laid his hand on top of hers. “It is not well known, but my family has a penchant for bluntness. Some even call us rough.” 

“That is rude of them.” She said nothing about his hand on hers, though she started to turn a light pink. “They must not know how very much you care. Perhaps they are blind. Have you checked their eyes?” 

“I have not.” The two of them arranged the tray to rights again, the little clinks and thuds breaking the silence that otherwise filled the room. “Princess.”

“Yes?” 

“It is imprudent of you to be fond of me. Your timing is terrible.” 

“I know.” She shrugged lightly, “I was rather less fond of you yesterday.”

“And today?”

“I'm very worried for you.” She smiled softly, “And it has brought my fondness back tenfold. It is extremely frustrating.”

“Would it help if I told you I was not very fond of you yesterday either?” She wrinkled her nose and set her shoulder against his, giving him a soft shove. “and today I find I am fonder of you than I had thought.” 

She froze for a moment, as she processed this new information and quickly she brought his hand, still on top of hers to her lips and kissed the knuckles, before dropping his hand entirely. He shook his head, finding himself speechless. The smile she gave him was impish... and immeasurably sad. She jerked her head to the table, where the members of their two families settled down to pretend to eat. He lifted the tray and the two of them parted, sitting down to sip water and wait.   
Ella pulled her niece into her lap, Lylia, who fussed for a moment before peppering her aunt in crumbs. Ella remained silent, lost in thought, her lips pressed to the top of the girl's head. 

Finally the Prince arrived, splendid in his armour. His face had more lines than any of them remembered and his hair more white. Ella rose to curtsey, followed by her siblings and Éomer and Éowyn. 

One by one, the brothers came before their father and received a blessing, a few words... something from their father than no one else could hear. Éowyn shifted impatiently, she did not understand why they had been brought to this breakfast when their own men were waiting to leave. Éomer thought perhaps he did. Amrothos knew the two of them had no family left in the city. He imagined that the youngest son had hoped to give them a farewell to the city that might cheer their spirits slightly. Éomer had to admit, like Éowyn he was eager to see his own men. He could see why a family as close as Imrahil's would pity him and Éowyn their orphanhood, but he knew they only needed each other. 

The Prince called to his daughter and Ella put down Lylia and knelt before her father. Prince Imrahil drew his daughter to her feet and spoke to her. He put her hands in his and their gaze locked. She nodded ever so often, her face hardening from her private sadness to the strength that her father asked of her. Like a seasoned player, Ella rolled her shoulders back and squared her chest, her chin lifting slightly. Princess Lothiriel, the The White Swan of Dol Amroth. There she was. Her father kissed her head, as she had kissed Lylia's and Ella was dismissed. 

Finally Imrahil called Éomer to him. Unlike the little bubble of privacy that had been created when he spoke to his children, as the Prince spoke to Éomer, everything seemed to shift back into movement. The two men talked as they walked towards the courtyard where their private guard awaited, and further down to the streets of Minas Tirith as the people threw flowers to the soldier and sang out hymns to the gods. To the gates of Minas Tirith where the army waited. 

“We ride now, King of Rohan. Our final battle lays before us. Set in darkness and commanded by a power we scarcely understand. And yet, as we ride, I would have you know that our company is good and I consider our meeting to be a gift. It is an Honour to ride with you.” 

Éomer nodded. “And with you, my Prince.” 

As he went deeper into the ranks of his men, he felt a sense of calm fall on him. Behind him, he could see Éowyn on her horse. Her long blonde hair flew in the wind. Rohan he thought, Rule it well, sister, if I should not return. Know that I fight for us. For our future. That our people might one day be free of terror and know only peace. If we should fail, bring the people of Gondor to our land and show them the safest paths. Welcome them to be one of us and make a final stand. Luck to you, my sister. My half. 

He drew up to the front of his guard, the reins to Firefoot in his hand as he mounted his horse. Again he looked back. 

There was Ella, her dark hair breaking free of its plaits, from here you could not see the flowers that had wilted, they all looked bright and she seemed like a creature of some story, her face turned up and towards the sun and the men. She sat tall on her horse. He could see she was crying but she seemed to pay it no mind. She drew her horse forward through the ranks. When she was in front of her father she stopped and bowed in her seat, her voice cracked only once. “Gondor thanks you for your service. Ride, Prince, with the hope of our people to drive you.” With a crack, his company broke into movement and the horses streamed by her. 

She moved on, to Aragorn, she extended her hand. “Gondor is in debt to you. Ride, Lord Aragorn, with our gratitude to steel your heart and hand.” Again, the commander seemed barely to move and suddenly the signal cracked and the whole company flowed forward, settling in behind King Imrahil's men. 

One by one, she set the men to their task, her voice growing rough with the shouting it took to overcome the wind and the horses and the men themselves. 

With three companies left to do, Ella came to Éomer, she smiled but did not offer him her hand. He remembered the flower she had put in his sleeve and the kiss he carried in his sword arm. He understood he had received his tokens for this battle. “King Éomer, the friendship of the Eorlingas is worth more than every jewel, every coin, and all the metal in the whole of our kingdom. Ride, my Lord, with our friendship. Show the darkness that the light cannot be divided. Rohan and Gondor united.”

He inclined his head to her and he urged his horse to a gallop, followed by his men. Ride for Ruin, he thought, grimly, to war. To war. Will we ever return? To glory, to honour, to battle.


	7. Chapter 7

  
Waiting was not a thing that came naturally to Ella. She doubted that waiting came naturally to anyone at all, but certainly patience was not a virtue she had ever been accused of having. It never ceased to amaze her how people were forced into patience. Women, mostly but almost everyone had at one point or another been told to 'Wait... see the good that will happen” as if by waiting with good humor, one was more likely to earn a good result.  
  
She knew that was not true. The end would be as it was meant to be. The manner of waiting, dutiful or otherwise, made no difference at all.   
  
From the day the army left, and every day after, she found her mood to be slow and dark. She had no desire to speak to anyone, she did not command the servants or even visit the Houses of Healing. Every day she would think she heard someone she loved, or caught of glimpse of some golden hair and never was it who she most wanted. It was not her father, not her brothers, not her friends. She knew that many in Gondor had lost their family. She knew that they were not truly lost. She knew all this and still she had not expected their disappearance in one fell swoop to destroy her so completely. She began a habit of climbing to the tallest point of Minas Tirith and gazing to Mordor. She knew, of course she knew, that the army hadn't even made it to the battle, let alone fought it, but she kept her eyes on the horizon nonetheless. Sometimes she prayed. Sometimes she slept. Most often she stood frozen, pushing all thoughts from her head and forgetting to eat or drink. The sun was hot on her and the stones of the tower were sharp and dirty but she would settle for the day and only come down when a servant came to fetch her to settle some demand or the other.   
  
The girl, windblown and red from the sun, knew that her father would be ashamed of her. She was mistress of their quarters and she should have been by Faramir's side, doing all that benefited a lady of her rank. A ruler, in all but name, of this city. Instead she was turning daily to stone, too scared to look away. Too timid to miss a moment. Would Mordor change if the battle was lost? She wondered, would she even know if the battle was won?   
  
She didn't let thoughts like that linger too long. The battle would not be won.   
  
On the third day, Ioreth and Éowyn were escorted to her nest. At first, Lothiriel didn't notice them. There was a flash of light in the distance, and she did not know what it meant. It was Ioreth who spoke first. Éowyn did not speak unless there was something to be said, and evidently nothing came to her that the healer could not say.   
  
“You've been gone from the Houses of Healing three days, Mistress.”  
  
Ella turned slowly to look at her. Her eyes ached from looking to one spot for so long. Her skin was burned red, and her mouth was dry. She had to swallow several times before she could speak, “I've been busy.”  
  
“Staring to the distance?” The woman's tone was dismissive and Ella didn't like it.   
  
“What do you care how I spend my time? The Houses are full of those who are _healing_. They do not need me. I watch for our armies. I watch for news. I am no concern of yours.”  
  
“Indeed, your work is without match. How the city would crumble without you, Princess.”   
  
Ella stood quickly, finally turning her full attention to the two women. Her dress was stained and she did not think she looked much like a princess at all. In contrast Éowyn was clean and smelled nice. Her dress was of good quality but simple, and she had her hands clasped in front of her. Her hair was combed and fell in sheets of pale gold to her waist. She held her back straight as a rod. Ella knew that though Aragorn had healed the Lady of Rohan, her wounds still pained her. It must have been hell for her to come up all these stairs. She must have struggled and still she stood in front of Lothiriel and put shame into her heart. This was how a lady ought to behave.   
  
Feeling the Princess's eyes on her, Éowyn met them and managed a small, sad smile. “We are not so very different now, you and I.” She took a step towards the girl, who instinctively took a step back. She did not want to dirty Éowyn's clothes. Éowyn was not phased. She closed the gap between them and took Ella's hands. “We both have given all that we love to this battle. We both look to the horizon and pray that when it again grows dark with bodies, it will belong to those who hold our hearts within them, riding back to us.”   
  
Ella had once pitied the lady of Rohan. She had pitied both of the children of Éomund and Théodwyn. They were so alone in this world and both of them so strong. Both of them carried their burdens with backs as strong as stone. Now, Ella envied the woman. How could she carry her cares and still be so serene? She wanted to demand an answer. Did the lady have no heart at all that she could not feel it breaking?   
  
“They will not return, Lady Éowyn.” Her voice cracked, and she turned back to the distance, in times that were more polite, this would have been a dismissal, “I think you know this. I think you know this as well as I do.”   
  
“If you believed that, Your Majesty, you would not sit up here. You would prepare the grain stores and enforce the gates of the city. You would prepare to fly this place, and find the safest routes to distance ourselves from Mordor.”  
  
“Indeed.” Ella frowned deeply, “That is what a good princess should do.”   
  
“You carry hope so deeply in your heart, I believe someone might have to kill to the body to kill the light within.”  
  
Ella smiled grimly,“If you seek to murder me, Lady, may I suggest making Ioreth do it? She's as skilled with a blade as you though her edge is considerably smaller, and her clothes are not nearly so nice.”   
  
There was silence and it unsettled Ella, she turned quickly to look at her two visitors. Instead of shock, she saw them sharing a conspiratorial glace. Something that resembled amusement.  
  
“You're mocking me.” She turned around, and for the first time directed the full weight of her attention to them.   
  
“Princess...” Ioreth took the reins now, and for the respect that Ella felt for her, she listened. “You have condemned your Uncle with word and deed since he retreated and gave up defence of the city-”  
  
Ella held up her hand, “Your point is made, Healer.” She did not need to be reminded of her uncle’s failures. Nor did she need to be compared to him.  
  
“My lady,” The Healer shook her head, “I do not fault you for the way of your mourning, I am sorry I cannot leave you to it. I am sorry that we cannot all mourn in peace, but the time has come to prepare. Either the men will be successful and we will rebuild the city, or the attack will fail in it's purpose and we must create a stronghold for Men.”

 

Ella wanted to cry. Ioreth was asking her to pry herself from this spot and create a future for them from scratch. Is that not what she was asking? Ella wanted to shake her head and refuse, she wanted to point to her years, _I am too young_. To her upbringing, _I am too soft_ , to herself, _I am too weak._

 

Her eyes went to Éowyn. The Lady of Rohan had not faltered. She had been strong during the siege of Helm’s Deep and she had destroyed the Witch King and his Fell beast outside these very gates. If someone offered such responsibility to _her_ , Ella was sure the lady would carry it properly.

 

“I must wash.” Ella looked to the horizon one more time, but it was as clear as it had been before. She sighed and turned her back on it. “Have the grain inventory brought to me, Military reports from the last ten years, and, if possible, we must arrange for representatives from every community in the city to meet with Faramir. He’s probably organizing something as we speak, but his rule is large and the things to be done, even larger. He may not yet have had the time and it must be a priority.”

 

 _Everything is a priority._ She thought, allowing the weight of this to settle on her and block out any feelings that still threaten to suffocate her. _How will we move the injured? How long will it take to move an entirely city through a path made for a single man and his family to escape? If the grain will not stretch, how will we feed the people in their flight. If the whole city manages to escape and manages to carry the grain,_ and _manages to agree on a location, how can we defend them? A whole city’s worth of injured, and old, and women, and children, all there in the open. I will lead my people to a slaughter._

 

She realized she was holding her fists so tightly that the delicate skin where the sores had been was being pierced by her nails. She shook her head in frustration.

 

Éowyn reached for the princess, even though Ioreth shook her head in warning. “Lothiriel.”

 

Ella turned suddenly, her distress clear as day. “It is a heavy burden, Lady Éowyn. It is a heavy weight, and you have known it and you will know it again. I see our paths set out before us, and it ends in death every time. It ends in sorrow. I cannot save my people. I can only delay their destruction.”

 

Éowyn nodded her shining head. Ella could not help but think of Éomer, to be reminded of him. They had the same set to their chin when they were grim. They had the same eyes though her's were grey, and his hazel, and they both tilted their heads down and put themselves at your level when they had something they needed to say very much. Éowyn made Ella nervous but she did not make her heart clench in the way that Éomer did, perhaps because Ella knew her less.

 

“Do not look at the whole path, Princess. Start with the first step.”

 

“That is not the advice _I_ would give you. It is not right..” Ella felt herself frown, and she slowly rethought her words and then amended them. “That is... It is good advice in that I am overwhelmed and sick with shame for having spent three days in idleness. I cannot, however, only look to the first step. I must see everything, every possibility, every number, every path. If I do not, then any misstep is laid squarely on my shoulders.” That was not true. It would be laid on Faramir’s shoulders and she would accept the blame as her own. Her words sounded better, though. More dramatic.

 

Éowyn accepted this with a nod. “If we do not hear word within ten days, I will go to my own people. My brother wanted us to join our people and head north.”

 

“My father hoped for the same. I will speak to the Steward.” If she was being honest, it made her angry

that she could not rile Éowyn the way she could her brother. No matter how she spoke, the White Lady, as the men called her, nodded her head and replied quietly. Ella wanted Éowyn to tell her to grow up. Maybe to shake her. She wanted a way to release the energy that was buzzing through her body. The energy that has been there since the army had gone. Éomer had been more fun to argue with. She missed him. Ella knew Éowyn had a spark within her. Where was it?

 

Éowyn stopped suddenly, Ioreth at her shoulder and then both took a second and bowed. It took Ella another moment to recognize her cousin coming towards them, and then she too dipped into a curtsey. For the last few weeks Faramir had been confined to a bed, but now he strode through the hall with purpose. He was much thinner than the last time he had wandered the hold, but Lothiriel was reminded of how tall he was. How strong he had been and must still be. His clothes were finer than his hospital threads and he had trimmed his beard and hair. She felt her heart lift high for the first time in days. Faramir could be trusted to do what was right. She could put her faith in him.

 

“Cousin, you look a fright.” He broke into a grin but didn't pull her into an embrace. Considering the state of her, Ella didn't blame him, but when she smiled back, she saw that his eyes shifted to Éowyn. Ah. He wanted to impress her.

 

“I've been politely informed that my idea of permanently relocating my quarters to the east tower cannot be allowed on account of how filthy it is. Which is a shame, I should think.”

 

“And yet, a sacrifice you must make, for the sake of all of us. I would wash at once, Ella, we have a dinner tonight.”

 

“We have a dinner every night.”

 

“No. Not like this. Prepare yourself, Cousin. We've invited the whole of the council and their families. Do you understand?”

 

Ella nodded, though she dreaded nothing more than going to any dinner that included the whole of the council. Small men who begged off fighting and their twitchy, bird-like wives who were never satisfied with any of the food, nor the temperature that anything was served at. “I appear to have come down with something, probably from all this dirt. A stomach bug, perhaps.” She rolled her eyes, “A fever, probably.”

 

“No, Ella. Not tonight.” Faramir shook his head and made to take her hands. Again Ella moved away from him, loath to dirty his clothing. He took the hint and did not try again. “I know you would not really do that. We must be a united front tonight.”

 

 _I will sew our clothes together then_. But Ella did not say it. She only bowed her head and nodded, trying to keep her face neutral. “Of course. I will wash now cousin. I hope you'll excuse me.”

 

Without actually waiting for leave, she made for her rooms. As she walked, she took deep breaths, feeling like there was never enough air. _Please_. She prayed with the desperation of those who were on their deathbeds. _Bring them back to me. Bring them back. I cannot live like this. I cannot... I do not want to be alone like this. Please, bring the back to me. Bring them back._

 

 

 

 

 


	8. Chapter 8

 

The army had been gone for two weeks now.

 

After seven days, there had been an eruption. All of Minas Tirith had seen Mount Doom grow active, the ash from it still blew into the city and made the stones look grey. Opinion was divided on whether this was a good sign, or an evil omen. On one hand, it could mean success, on the other hand, it might mean the whole of the army was dead and buried under a wave of magma. Ella wouldn't let herself think about it. She had vowed to harden her heart.

 

For now Lothiriel wiped her hands on her breeches, then wiped at her sweating brow. She was covered in dirt once more, which should have been a common thing for her by now, but it was an entirely different kind of dirty. She reached down and pulled another carrot out, threw it in her basket and went to the next.

 

_We do not have enough workers, Milord. We cannot harvest all the crops before we go._

 

'I will do it.' She had said and many of her ladies had followed. She was struck by the difference between this and when she had gone alone to the destruction of Pellenor fields. It was nice to have her women with her. When she had gone alone she had expected the difficulty of the work. This time she had not expected the heat of the sun, nor the pain in her back from bending over through hours of labour but now they were almost done, the field was almost bare. She grinned and shook her head in disbelief. This was one more day of survival when they had to flee Minas Tirith. It felt good.

 

Éowyn was preparing her men to ride to Edoras the next morning. They had delayed as long as they could. Ella privately thought Éowyn might have been delaying for Faramir, waiting for him to do something to make her stay, but that was romantic nonsense and there was no time for that. Both of them knew better. She would miss Éowyn when she rode. She would miss having the woman around.

 

The whole city had become grim and utilitarian in the last few days but not without life. Even those bird wives and their husbands contributed now, they paid in gold or personally saw that the mills went to work and wheat was made into flour. They housed orphans and pregnant wives with no husbands and supplied them with food and clothing. It made Ella's heart swell sometimes to see her people like this. It was a tiny bit of hope that she clung to like a drowning girl. The rest she blocked out of her heart and left it dry and cold where it could not interfere.

 

“My Lady, we are done for the day.” The farm manager went to go for a bow but Ella stopped him.

 

“If your back is as sore as mine, I cannot imagine that _anyone_ would be important enough to bow to.” It was a mark of how much the people had changed when her ladies started laughing and the man stopped his bow and rubbed his back in appreciation. Ella did manage a small curtsy before turning back towards the hold but simply because it seemed right, she began the long walk to a warm bath.

 

Her feet felt blistered and the mud made her itch. She didn't scratch though, and she didn't touch her hair or clothes to adjust them, she set a good example. Her ladies settled into a rhythm beside her. It was calming to hear their chatter, despite the dark days, people never really changed. One lady was particularly happy. Her betrothed would be released from the Houses of Healing today. He was missing his left leg from the knee down, but she didn't care. Ella smiled to herself, making a mental note to find the lady a dress or a jewel for the wedding. It always seemed to surprise her when life went on, day after day. People fell in love. Babies were born. Horses were groomed, people fought, people ate, people dreamed, people died.

 

_I wonder, Father, would you be proud of me now?_

 

By the time Ella had bathed and dressed again, the sun had begun to go down. She was wringing out the water from her hair when she heard a knock at her door. “Come in.”

 

Every muscle in Ella's body screamed as she stood to greet her visitor. Today it had been harvesting, yesterday it had been milling, the day before it had been building, and before that demolishing, making the tunnel bigger. There was no task Ella would not do. No call too small. When the people found a princess willing to wash the bedsheets of the sick, they were more willing to do it as well. Brothers. _Strengthen my step. I will not let your legacy fade._ She would sleep the night away in exhaustion, or else find no sleep at all.

 

Éowyn was dressed for dinner, shoulders as straight and strong as ever, her hair pulled back and braided, which was not common for her. The de-facto Queen of Rohan had dark circles under her eyes and her skin was pale and drawn. “You have not slept, my lady.” Ella said gently, asking a question she doubted would be answered.

 

“Perhaps, Princess, I should have joined you in your work. You look ready to collapse.” Éowyn gave her that same small smile. Not like her brother at all, but she didn't need to be. Ella had grown as fond of her as she had been of Éomer. She stepped forward and put her chin for a moment on the Queen's shoulder, heaving a sigh. She tried to imagine having done the same to the cold figure who had come to her family's breakfast those weeks before. She could not. No one understood the weight the two carried. When Éowyn could not sleep, she would go to the gardens and let the light of the moon wash over her. Sometimes Ella would find her sleeping there. Sometimes Éowyn found Ella in the highest tower, mesmerized by a horizon that did not change. Not for better. Not for worse. How strange, it seemed that the woman with her foreign accent was a lifeline for the fickle young princess. If only their families could see them now.

 

“I will miss you, Your Highness. I hope I will not turn to stone on the towers once more without your hand to guide me away.”

 

“I do not think that will be your fate, little one. No, not anymore.” Éowyn's words made Ella's chest swell with pride. As the weeks had gone by, she had grown to treasure the woman's opinion more than gold. She could not imagine now having to go without.

 

Though her hair was still wet, Ella took Éowyn's arm to go to dinner. For once, it was a small affair consisting of just Ella, Éowyn and Faramir. Of the three of them, none looked to be in particularly good health. Like Éowyn, Faramir had dark circles under his eyes and his cheeks, which he had shaved clean were now peppered with stubble. He looked haggard and exhausted, but in good spirits. Ella pretended not to see when he would brush Éowyn's arm or whispered in her ear, and when the lady would smile in response. _Let love bloom_ , she thought, nibbling on the last of the summer berries, _soon it may all become even harder._

 

The three lay sprawled in their own exhaustion on couches, eating the simple meal, the conversation deliberately light. Tomorrow, Éowyn would ride for Rohan and the people of Gondor would begin the preparations to flee Minas Tirith, and gather those who resided in other cities; Dol Amroth, Linhir, and Erech, among others and then flee northward.

 

They left unsaid how no place seemed safe. Perhaps the Dwarves could offer them safe haven, but they could not withstand the dark forces forever. Perhaps they could escape to the Shire, but news of strange happenings, even at that distance could be heard swirling through the cities. Ella's information had turned dark and there were more rumours than fact. It made her nervous.

 

Instead Ella told stories of growing up with Faramir, of how Amrothos would pretend to watch out for them, telling them exactly the prank that would befall them, only to lead them into a trap.

 

Faramir told Éowyn of the hundreds of times that Lothiriel as a babe would escape her crib and nursery and be found only hours later. They couldn't even sack the nurses, since it was understood that the child was filled with a mischievous spirit and it did not seem possible that four nurses could all be so incompetent.

 

Éowyn told them of Edoras. Of breaking her first horse, and ended up miles and miles from any town and having to find her way back with only the reins and a soft saddle and what was now a tired and surprisingly mild horse.

 

Before too long Éowyn had fallen sleep on her couch, and Faramir and Ella had fallen into a companionable silence, both mulling over their own thoughts and trying to find the answer in little sips of watered down wine.

 

“Will you ask for her hand?” Ella put down her cup and settled lower on her coach, fighting sleep for a little while longer.

 

“I am not certain. Not yet. She knows I love her. I have hope now that she may love me.” When he glanced over at Éowyn, his gaze was tender.

 

Ella smiled, feeling herself starting to slide deeper towards sleep. “Is it very exciting? I wish for your sake, it had happened differently.” She thought of all the old stories of danger and love co-existing. Of excitement and war and two lives being entwined. In her experience from watching men and women marry, it was rarely a whirlwind of any kind.

 

Faramir seemed to be pondering his answer when a guard came clattering into the room. Both of them scrambled to their feet, their exhaustion forgotten and even Éowyn managed to look awake, only taking a second or two longer to stir and rise as well.

 

“There are Uruk-hai at the Gates, Milord.”

 

Ella wavered. She felt herself grow hot, then cold again. The world spun around her. This was it then? Their greatest fears were brought to life, they were under attack. “We have the armies of Mordor at our gates then? How could this have happened?”

 

“That can't be possible. We would have seen them approach.” Faramir was right. Ella let out a long shaking breath that she hadn't realized she was holding. Faramir would know better than anyone else how to handle this. He had done it before. “Ready the bowmen, and those who can bear arms. We must not let them think we will be easy prey. Ready the preparations to evacuate the city.”

 

Everyone moved to follow his orders, and Ella went to straight to her rooms, changing from her dress into breeches again. She pulled on an old shirt and a thick leather tunic and a cloak. Her maidservant buzzed around her like a fly, but there wasn't a point in shooing her away. This time, Ella vowed, she would not hide in her rooms from the noise and the danger. She knew better than that.

 

She could not force her maidservant to bring her brace so she fetched it herself, along with her tab and her bow. She had not used it in so long that she had to hunt for a string to replace the old one which looked about ready to snap. It had been years since it had been safe enough to go hunting and Ella didn't like shooting at captured animals, though she knew it was a sport that some nobles did enjoy, and so her gear had gone by the wayside. She cursed herself for ignoring her training, for not realizing that this was a skill she should refine. It was one more thing she would regret when this was over.

 

She half expected Faramir to protest when she came out to stand beside him on the wall, but he only looked at her and then gave her a small nod. Their numbers were so few, it would not do to refuse a decent bowman _or_ woman. Ella saw at once how the Uruk-hai had managed to get so close. Almost all were mounted on wargs, but more importantly, their numbers were few. She pictured the sea of dark bodies that had attacked nearly a month before. At the time she had not imagined that so many creatures could gather in one place, they had spread almost to the horizon. In comparison, there were maybe five hundred fell creatures at their gates. She shook her head and turned to Faramir. “Do you think they are the scouts? Why would they attack us? They'll be destroyed.”

 

“Do not underestimate them, Cousin. I can only imagine that they are desperate and alone. Deserters, perhaps. Still, do not give them any advantage.”

 

“I certainly do not plan to.” Ella grinned at him, and he was struck by the feral sort of face she wore. When had his cousin become a lioness, he wondered, had it happened in front of him? Should he worry for the girl she had been?

 

From here they could hear the chant of the creatures below, but with their numbers so few, it sounded hollow in their ears. Ella made to go join the line of archers who circled the walls. The other bowmen moved to accommodate the extra body. If she was worried that she would be forced back to the keep, she needn't have bothered herself. No one seemed to mind her sex nor station, why would they? There were Orcs and Uruk-Hai at their gates. If the princess wished to risk her own skin, let her. Let her earn her title.

 

Even the ranks that finally formed outside the city looked messy to Lothiriel. Without notching an arrow, she spent a moment or two drawing the bow to get a feel for it again. From her spot, she could see women and children finding stones and boulders to log over the walls and a pot of oil was beginning to steam over a fire. She was awfully calm though for someone about to engage in her first battle. She knew, logically, that even one Uruk-Hai was extremely dangerous, but seeing them so far below and looking so pathetic, she couldn't help but settle and gloat. _You can't get us up here._

 

She soon learned how wrong she was when a dark arrow hit the man beside her in the neck. Just as quick as the wait had been slow, the air was filled with sharp points and her own hands were reaching for arrows, notching them and setting them free, before forgetting the target and moving on to the next. She could hear the ragged breathing of the woman who stood to her left and, much quieter, she could hear the rattle of the man on her right. She had thought him dead, but he fought for breath. Ella ducked, turning her attention to him. He clutched at the arrow, his face turning purple, Ella tried to stop him as he worked to tear the thing from his throat. He clawed at her and she was struck by the amount of blood. Ioreth hadn't let her into an operating room yet, hadn't let her help with open wounds unless they were the sort to be stitched closed in four stitches or less. She felt curiously numb as she tried to hold the man still. This wound would take ten stitches at least and that was just on one side. This was far outside her skill level. She could hear herself screaming for help, but help did not come. The man slowly went still in her arms, his hands wrapped around her wrists. Ella shook as she pulled herself from his grasp and reached for her bow, only to realize she would need to clean her hands before she could draw it again. She couldn't see any water, so she spent a good minute, still kneeling, trying to wipe the blood away on her breeches. The stones were turning slippery.

 

The woman to her right notched arrows and let them going with a fluidity that would have been the envy of Ella if the setting had been different. If the archer was scared, she did not show it. Her face was as calm as a lake on a hot summer day. Ella was nervous to reach for an arrow and disrupt the woman's rhythm, she knew a wrong move now might get them both killed so she turned to her left and reached for the bucket of arrows there, dragging them closer and studiously ignoring the body that waited beside.

 

Ella unfurled herself and notched her next arrow, aiming for a warg who was dragging its rider. It wasn't clear if the rider was dead or alive, but wargs were almost worse when they roamed free, destroying livestock and wild animals at will. She made the shot, dropping the creature into a limp pile of limbs. She felt a surge of excitement but she drew the line at whooping out loud. That seemed excessive, even for her. She notched another arrow, missed the next shot, notched another, got another kill, notched another, leg shot, notch an arrow, shoot, notch an arrow, shoot. She was not tired, she was not sore, she was defending her country, notch, shoot, notch, shoot, notch, shoot. She felt a sharp twinge in her shoulder that faded into heat. Notch. Shoot. Notch, careful now, shoot. Notch, shoot.

 

She noted with something like concern that their arrows were getting low, even with her dipping into the dead man's basket. She ducked again, feeling safe behind the stone walls, and searched for someone to bring more arrows, and then perhaps to bring water. Surely someone was assigned to the task. All around them, black Uruk-hai arrows lay scattered. Perhaps someone was coming to replenish the supply, but they were taking too long. Ella would have to do it herself. She felt invincible, she felt strong and able, like her senses had been sharpened. She took the empty basket and began to crawl her way over the rough stone floor to gather was many arrows as she could. This time the pain, when it came, was sharper and accompanied by a moment of impact and force just off centre of her spine, feeling for all the world like getting struck in the hip and ribs all at once and knocking her knees and arms out from under her, her head hitting the ground hard. She panicked. Had she scraped her face? Head wounds bled terribly, it would be inconvenient to shoot with blood in her eyes.

 

She came to standing, half crouched, the world spinning around her. Her arm ached terribly and now her back and ribs and legs felt bruised and hesitant. She tried to force reason into her head. If she was really injured, would she have been able to stand like this? No. Mostly likely not. It was probably a stray brick that had hit her. She pushed the basket towards her friend, only to find the woman draped, open eyed over the wall, her bow in one hand and an arrow square in her chest.

 

The mass of bodies at their gates had shifted towards a majority of corpses and only a few still living. Ella fired another few shots, but they were weak and only led to a single kill. Though Ella could never guess what action would make her feel guilty the next day, she dropped her bow at her feet and slid down to sit, head between her knees. The pain in her back grew intense and Ella felt nausea bubble up, it was hard to twist, but if she really turned, she could see the broken shaft of an arrow lodged into her back muscles. The head of another arrow was nestled deep into her bicep, the pain radiating high into her shoulder and collar bone. Ella knew not to try to pull the arrow out. Ioreth had told her how much more damage could be caused by doing so but she still ran her fingers longingly over the arrow head she could reach under the skin, pressing lightly on the wound to get a feel for how deep the metal had gone. She could feel where the head had shifted, from the thin skin under the bicep where it had first gone in, to the shoulder when she must have accidentally snapped the shaft. The world spun as she tried to push harder, she had lost it, she lay her head back against the comforting stone. The tower careened around her, the floor roiling like a great wave when that summer storm had hit the Bay of Belfalas.

 

Ella thought perhaps she should try standing. That proved difficult but not impossible, she kept her arms rigid and pressed against the stone walls, feeling for all the world like she might go tumbling over if she so much as shifted too far left or right. She noted Éowyn coming to put an arm around her. Then the fear on her face, the way she paused suddenly, turning to the horizon.

 

That damned horizon, thought Ella, which had been so unchanging for so many days, but she saw now what Éowyns saw: dark figures, only not so dark, and riding horses, banners held high. She thought she recognized a swan, but she reasoned that any white blob might do. Éowyn was holding her so tightly, but all Ella wanted was to slip to the floor and lay down for a moment. _Lay me down_ , she wanted to say. _This is as good a place as any._ Éowyn now looked as alarmed as Ella had ever seen her. She wondered what could have possibly rattled the woman so much, what had finally shaken Éowyn's calm? She tried to speak to ask, tried to laugh. It did not work. It would not work. She saw golden hair. Then she saw darkness.

 

 

 

 


	9. Chapter 9

 

It was high noon when she awoke, the sun streaming in hot and bright and burning her eyes. She was not naturally an early riser, but neither had she seen the midday from her bed in years, could not imagine that she had been allowed to sleep so late unless she had been very ill, or something truly terrible had come to pass. She did not feel sick, though her body ached, and so she tried to come to standing.

 

The room swam dangerously around her as her feet touched the cold marble floor. The dull ache in her muscles flared into a high scream. She took in her breath in a sharp gasp of pain, reaching for the pillow simply to have something to hold. She felt like she had been punched over and over and could not find any air to draw into her lungs. She remembered the battle, itself vivid in her dreams and fuzzy in her mind now, but she did not remember being so sore. Feeling so ill. She tried again to shift herself to standing and again found herself unable to.

 

“I wouldn't do that, My Lady.” She turned her head suddenly and almost cried out. Éomer moved towards her, from the corner of her eye she could see Éowyn asleep at her bedside. That alone marked the divide between what she was sure was a dream, and what could possibly be reality.

 

“I wish you had told me before,” she said through gritted teeth, “and I might not have done it.” _I am so glad to see you, s_ he should have said instead, _I'm so glad that you are alive. I am so glad you are_ here _._

 

He moved to cradle her gently back to her bed, when at last Éowyn stirred, rubbing at sleep heavy eyes.

 

“You're awake.” Her eyes looked over Ella like she was a gift, her desperation there for a moment and then gone just as quickly as she forced lightness into her face. “Your family will be glad to hear it-”

 

“Are they all right? My family, did they all-” Ella bolted up to look at Éowyn, and the girl sighed, gently pressing her back down.

 

“They all survived the battle Ella, they fought well... And they're mostly unscathed.”

 

“Mostly?”

 

“Elphir- Elphir lost his hand.”

 

 _That was terribly irresponsible of him. A hand is a large thing to misplace_. Ella felt a wave of hysteria flow through her and she closed her eyes and bit her lip to keep down the laughter before it turned into tears. Poor Elphir. He wouldn't be able to pick up both his children at once anymore like he did. One under each arm, his stern face transformed as he pretended to be a troll for them. He wouldn't be able to hold his wife and block the world from the two of them. He wouldn't be able to fight anymore. Not like before. What would he do?

 

“Can you let them know I'm awake now? I imagine there's a great deal to do now that they've returned, but I'm awake now, and I'd like to see them. I'm sure they'll tease me for sleeping the day away.”

 

“Ella...” There was something inÉomer's voice that made her pause, she turned questioning eyes on him.

 

“Yes?” She squinted, looking directly into the light of the window trying to make out if it was mid-day or early evening.

 

“You've been asleep for four days. We couldn't wake you for the world. Your family waited for days by your side, but there was business to attend to.”

 

Ella frowned and was about to tell them that it wasn't possible before she thought better of it and closed her mouth. Though her wounds ached fiercely, it wasn't with the same urgency that she remembered from the battle. She did not feel that she was bleeding. That she might die. It began to make sense... this time-line they offered her. She thought about the four days she had been senseless. How her family must have worried... she remembered the days and weeks they all lost while sitting by Mother's side as she had wasted away from them into an early grave. Poor Father. Her poor brothers. She wanted to see them. She wanted to promise them she wasn't going anywhere. She wanted to wipe the worry from all their faces, even Éomer and Éowyn who watched her closely.

 

“The healers doused you in poppy milk like they thought it might quench your thirst.” Éowyn said slowly, as if to explain how this could have happened.

 

“I wouldn't judge them too harshly,” Ella reached for the girl's hand and grinned brightly. She didn't like the concern in Éowyn's face, or the way Éomer was tucking the blankets around her like she had turned to crystal. It didn't suit either of them, Éowyn with her rigid back, and Éomer with his scrapes and scars from true battle. “I'm sure I was a terribly loud patient. I've never been in such pain.”

 

“No, Ella.” Éowyn came to standing and held Ella's hand so hard it began to hurt. Ella said nothing. “You lay as still as one in her grave. You never once cried out. I thought you died in my arms on the parapet. I thought I would present your father with a corpse upon his triumphant return!” Never had Ella seen Éowyn so upset. Never had she thought to be the cause of it. “Lothiriel, you left enough blood on those stones to cure a drought. Did you think you had some to spare? Did you think you might move faster without it?”

 

Ella shook her head, she tried to catch Éomer's eyes to plead for help, but he would not look at her. “I did not think at all.” She admitted, not seeing any point in lying. “The woman next to me was a true warrior. She should not have died.”

 

Éowyn shook her head and turned to Éomer, “I'm going to tell her family. Keep her from reopening those wounds.”

 

She turned on her heels and left the room. Ella groaned and leaned her head back on her pillow.

 

“Don't begrudge her her anger. She was worried about you. We all were.”

 

“I'm only concerned that I caused her so much trouble. That I caused you all such trouble.”

 

“That would be a first, Princess.”

 

Ella turned her head sharply, only to realize he was laughing at her.

 

“I'm very injured, you shouldn't be so mean to me.”

 

“Yes, I know.”

 

“I could tear my stitches from your impudence alone.”

 

Éomer lifted both hands and dragged them down the length of his face, but Ella could see the relieved grin he wore underneath. She laughed, and instantly regretted it, she managed, for a moment to keep the pain hidden, but then she grit her teeth and the air hissed through them, and Éomer knew.

 

“No more jokes, Ella.”

 

“That seems unfair. No more _good_ jokes.”

  
  


“Ella…”

  
The lightning that had spread across her back finally settled and she took a deep breath and sunk into her bed. “You're getting awfully familiar with my name now, King Éomer. Not a 'Princess' in sight. I suppose I left a great deal of my royal blood soaking into stones, but I still deserve at least a 'Pr'”

  
  


He shook his head, and she thought for a moment she had gone too far, but again a smile cracked the surface and she smiled back. He came to sit beside her, and Ella, feeling that she could claim some sort of poppy milk residue affecting her, took his hand and examined it. He had many callouses and she could see where he put the weight of his sword when he swung it. He wore a ring that had left a dark mark around his index finger. On the back of his hand his knuckles were scraped and scabbed over. She found herself fascinated, did everyone have their lives so clearly shown in the palms of their hands? How had she never noticed?

  
  


“I don't recall you being nearly so snobbish when I left.” Éomer flipped their hands so he could examine what her hands said about the changed girl in front of him. Though she had been washed, he could see dirt under her nails, could feel where the skin of her hands had hardened under labour. He could see the way the wrist tapered into a forearm that held some muscle now. It was a fascinating change. “I suppose with your token tucked into my sleeve, I imagined we might still be friends when I returned.”

  
  


Ella grinned at him, “I'm glad you kept it. I was worried you would toss it to the wayside the moment I was out of view.”

  
  


Éomer looked at her and brought her hand to his lips. He was suddenly serious. Suddenly, he studied her like he had never seen another of her ilk, which she knew could not be the case. She had not been offered a mirror, but she had a sneaking suspicion that her hair was tangled from four days in bed, and she thought suddenly of hitting her head on the stones. She tried to raise her free hand to her face to feel if she had broken anything, but it protested her movement. She forgot about Éomer and his lips and her hand and turned to the damage of the battle in shock. The whole arm had swelled, though the worst of it by far was her shoulder and bicep. Never had she been bruised so viciously, it looked like someone had taken a piece of wood to her and though the wound itself was bandaged, there was fresh blood on the gauze. She looked to Éomer in askance.

 

“Is this arm the worst of it?” She turned to him and did not wait for answers, she knew it was not, she could feel it in the lightning on her back. She tried to come to sitting. In the process she pulled herself from him, she had to see the whole of it.

  
  


“Ella. _Ella_.” Éomer had one arm pinning her down on her good shoulder, and the other around her back, loosely, holding her upright and afraid to let her fall. “What in Brema's name are you doing? What in all-”

  
  


He was looking at her, bewildered, and she saw herself reflected in his eyes. “Don't move. Don't move.” It was hard to make out details, but the twin versions of herself still looked human and mostly un-scarred. She could see a sharp scrape across her nose and a bandage had been wrapped high around her forehead. She closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them again, refocusing on him. “I thought I might have... That is, I don't mind if I've maimed myself for Gondor, but I don't want it being a surprise. I want to see how bad it is.”

  
  


His shifted his hand to her lower back and slid her back to the mattress, he held his hand there in case she tried to move again, his other hand still on her shoulder. “I have seen worse, My lady, much worse. If you stop shifting around like you're _trying_ to undo those poor healer's work, you might even manage to avoid some scarring. You're damned lucky to be alive with four damned black arrows in you, are you trying to finish the work they started?”

  
  


She looked like she might be considering his words. Like she would finally settle, and maybe even acknowledge that he was right and she was wrong. She cocked her head to the side for a moment, “I hope you don't plan on holding me like this until my father comes. I don't mind much, but I do doubt he would call it appropriate.”

  
  


He had to remind himself that she likely had never been wounded before, that she must be scared and uncertain. He sighed and slid his hand out from underneath her and released the pressure from her good shoulder. He came back to sitting, keep a sharp eye on her for any sudden movement but she made none, her face betraying the pain she was in. Eventually she reached out and snuck her hand into his again. That was her way of apologizing, he supposed.

 

“How long will you stay in the Capital?” She peered up at him, and almost imperceptibly her grip tightened on his.

 

“A week. Two at the most. My people need their King.”

 

“Oh.” She knew that she should not have expected any longer, but she realized she would like as not still be in this bed when he left. That his last memory of her would be of a girl tucked under blankets like a child. That bothered her more than she could say. She smiled brightly at him, “I wonder where Éowyn is. I fear she's lost her way.”

 

“I imagine trying to gather the whole of your family might be quite a task.”

 

“I do not doubt it. We should have fetched a servant or two, they always seem to know where everyone is. They see everything. Probably because they're actually looking.” She looked up at the ceiling, already bored of that view. She wanted to lay on her side, but she couldn't. She wanted to cry but she couldn't. _Be strong. You're alive, and that should be enough_. “Éomer.”

 

“Yes?”

 

“I will miss you very much when you leave.”

 

“That is kind of you to say, Princess.”

 

What he should have said was _I will miss you too. I am glad you are alive. I am so glad you are_ here _._

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	10. Chapter 10

The weeks dragged long and dull for a princess stuck in a bed. She was at the whim of others to come visit her and there was much to do. Once it was generally agreed that she was on the mend, and not likely to be in further danger she found that her visitors were fewer and further in between and they generally did not stay long. She attempted to shorted the days by sleeping, but then could not sleep through the night for nightmares. At times she attempted to write letters, or see to her numbers and accounting but it was hard. She was used to the management of Dol Amroth, she didn't have as much to do as a guest of Minas Tirith. Even the accounts of their quarters were taken care of, since she was 'indisposed'. 

Eventually the monotony was such that she ordered books brought to her about Rohan, Gondor, and whatever could be found on the halfling's land. She studied her Rohirric and her history, she sent letters to anyone she felt could use one, and then, when she ran out of people who she knew personally, she began to write letters to those who had lost children or parents in the battles against the darkness. Those letters certainly had no end. 

Gossip began to filter back into the city, fresh and bloody and perfect for her boredom to feed on. She made notes of everything. Rumour was the ring-bearer and his companion were in Gondor, resting, as she was. That was interesting. She asked to meet them but Ioreth had laughed. 

“My lady, you cannot even leave your bed. How do you expect to go anywhere?” 

Ella had tried to shift herself to standing, only to find the stitches that were keeping her back whole also kept her back tight and stiff. She had tried to ignore the pain until she got to her feet, only to promptly have her legs give out. Ioreth had caught her, and pityingly allow her to begin walking around her rooms with a companion for a couple minutes a day. By the middle of her second week, Ella had worked her way up to about an hour out of bed. Ioreth had promised that the stitches would come out soon. She had warned the Princess not to focus too much on what the skin looked like now. 

“It'll heal, Princess. One day, your husband will barely know.” 

Ella didn't care about her intangible future husband and his thoughts on her skin. She cared about herself, she cared about those she did not want to hurt seeing the mess she had made. She had seen the damage only in passing, when she was washed and the water reflected back the truth, and she could only hope that since then, her back might look rather more whole and rather less like a grotesque sketch of lightning. Ioreth had explained that the arrow heads had broken free from the shafts and the healers had had to cut deep, essentially chasing the arrow heads through her back and find them before they could cause more damage. That was lucky. Lucky and stupid. It still made Ella shudder when she thought of it. She could not think of any other woman she knew who had scars like that. Perhaps Éowyn did. Perhaps the woman on the wall had had her own scars. To be in their company wasn't so bad, was it? 

Sometimes, in the middle of the night, Ella would wake up and go to the window, lifting up her dress and craning her neck this way and that way to try and see the whole picture. The scar across her nose was thin and pink and bright. When she combed her hair and pinned it back, the scrape on her temple disappeared. She imagined princes and lords from all over Gondor coming to meet her and talking to her father. 

“She's still pretty enough, I suppose, of course the dowry will have to be increased.”

She imagined her father nodding in his grave, thoughtful way. “Of course. The damage is significant.” 

And the betrothal being sealed with an extra few pounds of gold and a few extra yards of land. 

It made her angry. It made her want to throw things and storm the castle. Instead, she stopped looking into mirror or windows. Her father was a good man who wouldn't auction her off, and he wouldn't care if she looked like an orc. I am more than my skin. Ella devoted herself to her studies. 

Faramir came in the late evening, three days before the Rohirrim where set to ride. 

“Ella. Ella... are you awake?”

Her candle was more wax than wick at this point, and she grinned at the sound of his voice. Carefully she closed her book and even more carefully she eased herself from the bed and walked gingerly to him, wrapping her arms around her cousin. He did not do the same, wary of any touch that might hurt her. She was getting used to armless hugs. 

Faramir went to sit at the edge of her bed, but she stayed standing. It felt good to stretch her legs. She examined her cousin, face to toes. Like her, he had been dreadfully injured but he looked healthy and happy now. The lines she had grown used to seeing on his brow were softening, and he had no beard any longer. She could see he was gaining weight back and his tunic was filling out again, she smiled again and brushed her good hand through his hair. She wanted to tell him how much she loved him, she felt the words wanting to burst out of her. It had been happening almost constantly of late. The battle was won and the future looked clear and there was time now, suddenly, for holding family close. 

“Are you all right?” 

Along with his healthy frame, Faramir's eyes were bright and his cheeks flushed pink. He might have had a fever, but his eyes were focused and they waited for Ella to settle herself. She had not seen her cousin so happy in years and certainly not since they'd heard of Boromir's death. She shrugged, “I'm fine. Ioreth is going to take out my stitches tomorrow and she promised me juice of the poppy so it should be quite the day. Oh! And I'm walking. Look.” She took a couple steps then bowed her head slightly like a player receiving applause as if she hadn't already shown him her new trick. 

Faramir grinned at her and stood up suddenly.“I wanted to tell you, before you heard from one of your little birds...” 

Ella felt her brow burrow and her heart contracted for a moment, hard. Instantly her mind went to the worst case scenario. Was the future King sending her cousin away? She tried not to think of what she would do without Faramir, Éowyn, and Éomer. What it would mean to lose them all in one summer, she would be without true friends once more. Yet, Faramir looked so happy, and she had to remind herself to stop being selfish and let him speak. She forced a smile. 

“Éowyn and I are betrothed. I asked for her hand... and she accepted.” 

What? 

The truth was so different from her dark thoughts that she felt for a moment like the world had gone very, very still. Then it rushed back to speed, and she realized that Faramir was at her side, holding her good arm steady. 

“I can't tell whether you're pleased or horrified, Birdy.” 

Ella grinned at him, “I'm having trouble ordering my thoughts, but they seem to be pleased. Delighted, even. I'm very, very, very happy for you. And for Éowyn. And-” She gave him an extra sparkling smile since he still looked concerned and she couldn't stand seeing that on his face, “This gives me a whole celebration to plan. I'll never be bored again.”

“You have never had a day in your life where you haven't been restless. A wedding won't change that, though I imagine the halls will be a little less forlorn with your yelling finally ringing through them again.”

“Poor Éowyn probably wanted something small and simple. I'm going to disappoint her so completely.” She paused for a moment, “I don't yell.”

When his eyes came up to hers, they were laughing and she felt her heart rise. Faramir was happy. That was more than she could ever repay Éowyn for and gods knew she owed the girl enough as it was. There was so much to talk about. So much to ask. She fought the sudden urge to take his hand and beg him not to leave her. She smiled around the bitter taste of that thought. “You should perhaps speak to Éowyn before you plan the whole thing for her. She might be happier with your handling it, however. Our customs are different from theirs, and she's worried.”

Lothiriel almost laughed, but stopped herself. Éowyn was never worried about petty things and certainly she had no reason to be. She could come to her wedding dressed in a horse's blanket and barefoot and still be the most beautiful woman there. 

When she went to visit the bride-to-be the next morning, however, Ella found Éowyn pacing the halls of her quarters. Her back was as straight and tall as ever, but she looked as though the walls of her rooms were seconds from collapsing atop her. “Your court is cold.” Éowyn said, when Ella had just barely entered. They were reaching the last hot days of summer, and the keep was hot enough to warrant afternoon naps. Ella said nothing, shrugging her hair back over one shoulder and she found her favourite seat in Éowyn's rooms and curled up. “They'd have me give myself to Faramir by lacing me into stays so I cannot run, and they'll make me hobble my ankles, and tied my own wrists together...” 

Ella knew that Éowyn dreamed of cages. Cages that were gilded and large. Cages that were small and cramped and barbed. She saw the rigidity of Gondor's court differently than Ella did. Ella liked playing within the rules. She liked finding ways around what was asked of you. If she could, Éowyn would have left it all behind. Ella examined the other girl for a moment. Is that was love was? Would Éowyn be miserable because once she had been in love? 

“We'll have the wedding outside.” 

That made Éowyn stop for a moment, her eyes sweeping over Ella as if she could not understand if she was joking or not. “Outside? And ruin everyone's shoes?”

“We'll go barefoot.” 

“Barefoot? You'll spark a riot, Princess.” 

“No. I'll change things. If Princess Éowyn and Lord Faramir want to marry under open skies, in mud deep enough to swim in, dressed in armour and surrounded by war heroes and their favourite horses, then that is how the court will accept you marrying, mark my words.” 

Éowyn began to laugh. It start slow, like honey coming out of a jar. Ella was half in love with Éowyn's laugh, how it instantly made the cold girl warm, how it was rare enough that when she managed it, Ella felt like she could move mountains. How she could do it even now that her strong arms and legs were thinning out under her clothes after weeks of 'recovery', and her bones starting to make themselves known. Now that she was turning weak, she could still make a warrior laugh and that made her feel better. 

“We'll dance in the rain. Which might make the armour uncomfortable, but perhaps at that point you might consent to a different wardrobe.” 

Éowyn was still laughing. 

“Of course, the mud will make it slippery, so I imagine we'll all be slipping and sliding, but I think a good wedding involves clothing that cannot be made clean again. It's a mark of weddings that is dreadfully under used in favour of pomp and circumstance, which I personally cannot stand.”

“I have heard that!”

“It was not always this way.” Ella sighed, “But it turns out that hiding from court for weeks will dull your appetite for speeches.”

“No speeches at my wedding. No talking at all. Only dancing.”

“Only embracing.” 

“Lots of drinking!”

“Ever more embracing then.” 

Ella saw that the dark cloud over Éowyn's head was lifting, and hiding underneath was the lovely woman who was in love with her cousin. Truly in love. In love enough to leave her own country for his. 

“I won't ever let the two of you be sad, you know.” 

Éowyn, who had still been giggling turned to Ella and sobered, taking in the ferocity on her friend's face. “Ella...”

“I shan't. Not if it's within my power. I won't let you be sad. I won't let you suffer again. I'll make sure you're happy, the two of you. Whatever comes.”

Éowyn shook her head, though she was smiling, and she came to sit with Ella. The princess could see that the Shieldmaiden's eyes were bright and shining, though her face was serious. “You can't fight our selves for us, Lothiriel, no more than the moon or the sun. If we are sad, we will be sad, if we are angry, then we will be angry... And then the mood will pass and another will replace it and we shall all keep moving. Good friends are hard to come by, I would not have you think you had failed because you have loved mortals who are prone to our moods. You of all people should know that.” 

“I have no moods.” Ella said quickly, and she saw instantly that Éowyn was moments away for laughing again. “I am calm as the storms that come to the seas. I am smoother than the mud fields on which we will dance.”

“I would have you no other way, dear princess. And I would have you beside me when I marry.”

“I can do that.” Ella tried to think of when she would be recovered enough to stand for hours and dance until morning. Would Bride and Groom wait a year? Would they be willing to wait months? Surely Éomer could not return from Rohan within a couple months of leaving, and he could not delay his departure for months until a ceremony could be planned. Éowyn would not marry without her brother. She would figure this out. It was a puzzle and she could sort it. “If I cannot keep you from sadness, then at least let me keep you from worry. I will make your wedding all you wish it to be. I swear it. It will be a day unparalleled in joy.”

Ella was fond of promises.


	11. Chapter 11

“My Lady.”

 

Princes Lothiriel looked up at the rider, blinking tired eyes at him. He shifted into view as her head adjusted to the difference between people and columns of numbers. A weathered man, covered in dust and lean from riding.

 

“You asked to be notified if any riders appeared?”

 

She did, so this was not a question. It was nervousness talking. The man in front of her was a bit grizzled. He shifted from foot to foot in her presence but his voice was rough and his accent from some western province. She wanted to put him at ease but didn't know where to start. He didn't come out with the fact there were riders in the distance because he did not think he could address her directly. Ella wanted to sigh, but she didn't. It was not his fault this would take twice as long. With the younger scouts she could smile and gently touch their shoulders. This man was her father's age, and like her father he did not seem like a man who would brook being gentled like a dog.

 

“And they have?”

 

Wedding guests, she assumed. Her own family had returned from Dol Amroth to Minas Tirith only a month before. She was expecting families from all the provinces and from several other countries to start streaming in, and they had, in a trickles at first but then in waves.

 

No bride though, which had started to bother Ella's sleep. No bride. No bridal family. No wedding without a bride.

 

“Yes'm.”

 

“Where did they hail from?”

 

“We did not speak with them Princess, I was told to ride at once.”

 

She pressed her lips together and took in a deep breath. She wished he had stayed until he had seen the standard of the riding party. She wished she could tell him that was what she had expected from the men posted at the perimeter of the city. She wanted to tell him that her spies, half of them children, could provide her better information that he. She didn't. She said aloud none of what she thought.

 

“My Lady?”

 

Ella realized she had been sitting and thinking without a word for far too long.

 

“Yes?”

 

“Their riders- I-”

 

She looked up suddenly, her eyes hungry for the information he held. If the man was startled by the change, he did not say so. He only took a breath and continued.

 

“They were horse-men. From Rohan. I rode behind their caravan in the Battle of Mordor. I would recognize their riding anywhere.”

 

Ella stood up abruptly, her face changing from it's polite blankness to something decidedly more alert. Something almost hungry. She forgot to dismiss the man who then followed her all the way to the stables. He didn't seem to know if he was free to go or not as she saddled her mount. He still didn't seem to understand as she tucked her skirts around her and swung herself up, calling for the gates to be opened. In fact, to his credit, the man managed to find a mount and catch up to her when she was almost beyond the city's perimeter, and Ella was not riding slowly. To his further credit, he did not aim to stop her, only to attend to his duty.

 

Ella thought for a moment that the man must be mistaken. The party of riders was smaller than she expected and they rode like they were on a mission. Their standards were not up, though she could see that a few riders were falling behind, trying to raise the flag without having to stop. She caught sight of the white horse and whooped, spurring her horse forward and letting the beast have it's head. She felt like she rode on the wind itself.

 

It had been a year since she had seen the children of Éomund. She could not wait a moment longer.

 

A year was long and dull amount of time but Ella was getting very good at waiting. She did not imagine, a year ago, that the time would ever come to an end. In fact, she did not think at all of what that ending might be. It seemed to her as she watched the days tick by, that she was waiting for an hour glass to empty that had been overfilled. The sand would never trickle away.

 

 _She had dreaded the morning, and still it had come. Cool and clear and good for riding. The sort of day that promised something._ I wish it would storm _. Ella had thought, but it did not so she dressed and ate slowly, thinking perhaps she could complain of her injuries causing her to stay abed. She frowned at her own reflection and left her rooms before her thoughts got any more ridiculous. She found herself delaying her steps until she could delay no more._

 

_The hallways were almost empty and her steps rang like bell. She stopped for a moment to examine her shoes. Did they always ring so loud and the bustle of the hallway drowned them out or had she simply never noticed them before? Should she get new shoes?_

 

You're just delaying the inevitable _. She thought bitterly to herself._ They will leave whether or not you come to the gates. That is not going to change. It might make you feel better if you went. You'll regret it if you don't. _She knew it was true._

 

“ _Ella!”_

 

_Of all the people sent to gather her it was rare for a King to do it._

 

“ _I'm sorry.” She said instantly, “I didn't want to come.”_

 

_Éomer's face filled with confusion, then a flash of hurt, then understanding. “It will not be good-bye forever.”_

 

“ _No,” She said, “but I had hoped that I would be done with goodbyes after the war.”_

 

“ _And I too.”_

 

“ _I would have thought goodbyes would get easier as they became more numerous.”_

 

“ _And they have not?”_

 

“ _No. Not the ones that matter.”_

 

_There was silence then. She held herself strong and upright. Like Éowyn would have._

 

“ _I was not sent to get you.” He said. “I asked to.”_

 

“ _That's kind of you.” Ella found she was frozen in place. If they did not move, indeed if they talked forever then she might not lose those who had burrowed their way so deep into her heart. She had not expected to find them there, these cold horse-people from months before, and yet they were branded on her very soul. She could not shake the feeling that if they left, she might never again see them._

 

“ _I will miss you, Ella.”_

 

_She wanted to say: 'Don't miss me. Don't go' but she was a princess, born and raised and she knew that missing her was only an itch and ruling was all consuming. She wanted to say 'Stay with me' but instead she took his hands. She longed to tell him that he could live with her and her family. That he would be like family. They were both silent and her hands went from his to his chest. 'You are buried in my heart.' She wanted to tell him, and she found his arms were around her too. Her horse king who had been so slow in the field that first day and so quick to help her. Who had become so many things to her. 'I hate you.' She wanted to tell him, her head tucked under his chin. 'I do not know how to lose you.' She thought of his sister who was like her sister. Who had pulled her from the wall when she was like to die. She thought of the two of them. How much she loved them. She lifted herself high on her toes and pressed her lips to his. He did not jerk away, though his hands moved in surprise before he kissed her back and they stayed for only a moment, her just barely on her toes and him bent down just a bit, before pulling away, neither sure what exactly had happened._

 

“ _I will miss you too, Éomer, King. Be sure to bring your sister back in time for the wedding. I shan't take any excuses.” Her eyes stayed fixed to the floor as she mumbled and she ran from him, though she should not have been running and it hurt. She should not have been kissing foreign dignitaries either, though, so what was one more infraction?_

 

Ella reflected, as she rode like a fool, that she had not spoken to Éomer since that day. That she had stood with her father, her head bowed, and she had not one looked at him and now she did not know if he would look at her. Sure, their letters back and forth were pure diplomacy, weather and family and reminders of the wedding. _I have kissed you and I do not understand what that means._ But there was no room in letters for that nonsense.

 

She forced such thoughts from her head as she approached the riding party, squinting her eyes to make out the white horse of their standard. “You're late.” She called, over the howl of the wind in her ears.

 

“We are fast riders, Milady.”

 

“And we are fast planters, Your Majesty, but still we do not wait until the last day of the season to plow the fields.”

 

She turned her mare tightly and began to ride back to the gates, expecting in the way that princesses do that she would be followed. Not by the whole party, certainly, but by it's leaders. She could hear Éowyn behind her and she imagined the face she was making at her brother. She imagined the way the girl managed to say 'I told you so' without having truly to say a word. Unless the Lady of Rohan was rolling her eyes at Ella. Perhaps she was saying 'we should not have come back.'

 

Ella turned slightly to see if she could catch them and interpret what they meant by their silence.

 

Éomer had a wicked grin on his face as he spurred Firefoot to a gallop and before Ella could veer from _his_ path he had snatched the reins and was pulling Ella from _her_ path. Her mare was following Éomer willingly, the beast knew who the better rider was and Ella was just along for the ride.

 

“Éomer!”

 

“I can't hear you over the wind, princess.”

 

“I'll scream louder then.”

 

“Please do try.”

 

This was not how kings behaved. Even Aragorn who seemed strange to Ella was well behaved and kind and good. Ella tried not to start laughing just to prove a point, but they were riding so fast, and she was half terrified and half exhilarated and she did not think Éomer knew where they were going and she certainly did not either, so she didn't imagine they would know if and when they got there which meant a great deal of riding which Ella didn't have time for. She doubted Éomer had time for it either, and still their horses were sprinting and the two of them were laughing.

 

She was starting to think that Éomer didn't know where to go, and was perhaps too stubborn to admit it. They were miles from the city walls and she could see the city in the distance, but certainly not anyone in particular. Minas Tirith could be seen for miles and miles and so she wasn't sure of the specific location they had arrived at. The horses were tired, and when she reached for Éomer's hand, and told him that she was sore and needed a rest, he immediately stopped their flight and his face dropped it's smile and turned into dark concern. The King of Rohan jumped from his mount and reached up to gently help the Princess from her own.

 

“You said you were recovered.” He said, and to Ella it sounded like an accusation.

 

“I am.” She said, “I will not start to bleed from my head or my back or my arm, and so, I am recovered. I did not expect-”

 

“El-”

 

“There has not been much time for riding-”

 

“El-”

 

“My name is very short on your tongue.”

 

“I worried for you.”

 

“I'm sorry to disappoint you!”

 

“El!”

 

They both stopped for a moment. Ella realized quickly and with no small amount of shock that she was alone with Éomer. She was not within the walls of Minas Tirith, she was not within the care of her people and she was alone with a man she had kissed... And she was yelling at him. For caring.

 

Perhaps at the same moment, Éomer too who had looked amused after he had looked uncertain, no longer looked amused, and so the two were stuck, neither knowing just what to say. Ella looked helplessly at Éomer and he studied her, as was his disconcerting habit which she had forgotten in their year apart, only to realize she was not sure she liked it, now that they were once more close enough to study each other.

 

“I think I'd like you to kiss me. I would like to stop thinking for a moment.” Her brow was furrowed like she wasn't really sure and she was looking at him like she had never seen him before, like he was a novelty in front of her, and she did not know how one treated novelties.

 

He liked that were was something she was not sure about and so he kissed her. He kissed her softly at first, in case she had misspoken, or like in other things, changed her mind. Then she did not protest and he knew he was not hurting her because she was 'recovered' and so he kissed her again. Her hair was tangled from the ride and caught in his fingers and she was soft and clumsy and sweet. She was a girl who had not been kissed before. He felt, perhaps that it should bother him. That she might need to kiss other men before she could decide who she wanted kissing her, but he did not say anything. He could not tell who pulled away first but neither of them seemed to be able to think much of anything.

 

“My Father will be worried.” Her eyes were dancing and searching and her hands were over her lips like they were finding something new for the first time.

 

“He should be. Your horse bolted so quickly this afternoon. If it weren't for me, you could be all the way in Dale by now.”

 

“You're a hero, King Éomer.”

 

“I hope your horse makes a habit of bolting, Princess. I could do with a fair few more heroics.”

 

She knew this was flirting, and she imagined it meant that he wanted to kiss her again. She imagined that if they wanted to, they might meet in hallways and share a moment and no one would ever know. She imagined this, but she was not sure, and she hated being unsure about anything.

 

“Then you want to kiss me again, King?”

 

“I might even do it without your asking.”

 

She grinned and said nothing, turning her back to him and gathering their horses from the stream they had found.

 

When he tried to help her up, she refused him. Proudly she mounted liking she was proving she was as strong and able as she had ever been before. She didn't let him touch her reins.

 

 

There had been girls in Edoras, girls in inns, and girls even in Gondor who had been kind and pretty. There had been girls who he thought of fondly and who had kissed prettily. Ladies with sweet voices and soft hands. There had been women who had needed nothing from him but a drink and a dance and there had been some he could only remember as a scent, or a word or a song.

 

There had never been a girl like her.

 

There had been boys with kind eyes and gentle words. Princes from her own country who understood Gondor's ways, who had offered fortunes to marry her and who had demanded only her hand. Not even her heart. Just her hand. There had been courtiers who had danced with her like they were telling her all she needed to know to be happy. There had been soldiers who had promised her the moon in exchange for her love.

 

But there had never been a man like him.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't tell you how much it means to me to get your wonderful comments. Thank you so much for reading and following along! I hope you're all enjoying the story so far.


	12. Chapter 12

 

Lothiriel's father was very concerned to hear that her horse had bolted in the middle of an open field. The mare was impeccably bred and even more impeccably trained, if she had been bigger she might have made a good war horse. Ella assured her father that Lightning was, as ever, the perfect horse and perhaps sensing that her mistress had been injured for so long, was more likely to be cautious when approached by strange horses and their even stranger riders. Prince Imrahil did not seem to like this excuse but he accepted it. Ella had the sneaking suspicion that he did not truly believe it and he seemed to examine the king of Rohan with particularly keen eyes. She could not decipher the meaning behind them. Regardless, he greeted King Éomer like a long lost son and her brothers too did nothing to break the illusion. This was their war brother, home from his own home, they did not care what had happened, so long as their sister was home safe and their war brother healthy and hale.

 

Ella, on the other hand, was having a difficult time keeping her head on straight. She had agreed without exception to handle the wedding that was now only a little over a week away, but on top of those responsibilities, she now had a great deal of kissing to think about which proved a greater distraction than she had expected any single thought to be. Furthermore, as her brothers prepared to attend the wedding and then retreat to their own homes, she found herself taking on more of the accounting for Dol Amroth, and more of the responsibilities. Only Amrothos was staying in their home province and he was restless and dismissive of her when he got in his moods, feeling left behind and like the youngest child, and those moods had gotten worse and worse of late. Ella did not know how to make her brother happy, nor how to tell him how unhappy he was making her. She did not want him to leave, then she would be all alone in their great city.

 

Now with the bride in Minas Tirith, the wedding preparations truly took hold of the people who were easily as raucous as they had been when King Aragorn had married Queen Arwen. Ella privately thought that the people were louder and cared more. King Aragorn and Queen Arwen were good and the city loved them, but they did not _know_ them. They knew and cared for Faramir deeply and tenderly and his chosen bride was thought brave and strong and beautiful. It was not the same.

 

Éowyn, for her part was playing the blushing bride terribly. She promised Ella that if she made her try on even _one_ more dress with a corset of any kind that she would call off the wedding, take Faramir, and ask a goatherd to marry them. Ella thought was actually a marvellous plan as it would save the treasury a good amount of gold. Instead she gently reminded Éowyn that she could have been here a month ago and had the dress done and exactly to her liking, but she had not and now there was a week left and Ella wasn't particularly interested in hearing Éowyn disparage Gondorian fashion yet again, as not everyone had the figure for unlaced sacks of silk with a single belt around them.

 

Ella had not told Éowyn what had happened on her ride with Éomer and the girl had not asked, though Ella imagined that she either knew or guessed and did not think it was her business. She wanted mostly for Éowyn to _make_ it her business since Ella, who had been very calm about it when it happened was decidedly less calm now since she had not seen Éomer for three days and was worried he was avoiding her. If he was, she resolved, she would talk to him and ask him to stop behaving like a child. If she could bring herself to talk at all which was not likely, since she could not do it unless they were alone, and neither of them were ever alone.

 

Ten days bled into five, which bled into three, which became the night before. All argument faded into the ether as the two girls watched the sun set over glasses of wine.

 

The two wouldn't be alone for long. There were things women did before one of their own made their vows, just like there were things that were done when a girl first bled, and when she first took or gave life. It was how things were, and Éowyn, who didn't have any female family had submitted herself to Ella's. While they waited, they opened the window and straddled the window frame, giggling at the height below and holding their hands to the beautiful sunset as if they could leave their fingerprints somewhere in the vivid colours. The wine was fruity and rich and they were both happy, and free. Their dresses were unbelted and unstayed, the loose pale dresses of summer children, of girls, with low, dipping, backs and short hems that ended below the knees and above the calves. Things peasant girls wore during summer festivals, things ladies wore only when they had a good excuse.

 

Among the women, Ella did not mind that her criss-crossed skin could be seen, the scars now pale pink and luminous against her darker skin. She knew that Mira, Elphir's wife had white scars on her stomach from the birth of their children, and Lorella, Erchirion's wife had them on her belly and thighs and arms. One did not grow as strong as Lorella and not have scars to show. She saw the scars that Éowyn carried on her stiff arm. In their company, Ella did not feel alone or ashamed. She had earned her scars like all of them.

 

The women fell, giggling from Éowyn's quarters, wrapping shawls and scarves around them like flowers and their petals. There was no jewelry though, no gold, no silver, no precious stones. It was how these things were done. The maidens of the wedding party must be without adornment, without anchors. More wine. Ella couldn't stop laughing.

 

When they finished their pitcher of wine, another was brought. Then cider, and then ale. There was music, and there was laughter and dancing. They had gone to the gardens, low in the keep and kept cool, the greenery here was dark and lush. Lanterns had been hung and there was food, and always more drink but otherwise there were no decorations, just twinkling lights and the moon high, high above them.

 

The men came in a less decorative fashion. Faramir and Éomer and Amrothos first, who turned the ladies' dancing into twirling hugs, feet kicking above the ground. Then came Elphir and Erchiron, less wine soaked, and less boisterous as they found their wives, and laughed about their own history, the nights before their own weddings. Ella had never been to one of these before. She had been too young when her brothers were married, and then weddings had been small and intimate when times had been darker. She had not realized that men would come to join them, and if she had she might have covered her back in more than a shawl before coming to the gardens, or tied her hair up. Perhaps, she thought, this is why they had not been told. She could see that all the men likewise carried no ornaments, and that they were dressed simply too. Around the perimeter away from the younger folks who were dancing and celebrating were those like her brothers, who watched carefully, lest anything get out of hand. They did not look specifically to her, but she shrank from dancing anyway, and put down her cup of wine.

 

The night was too pretty to stay apart forever. She did not mind taking a rest. When, she wondered, had the night been so pretty? When had the world been this kind to them? Never, she thought, never, never, never.

 

“Tired, Princess?”

 

Ella jumped and before thinking too much of it she hit Éomer's chest. “You scared me.”

 

“I'm sorry.” But he didn't look sorry. He never looked sorry at all but certainly not now. Ella tightened her shawl against his eyes, her face flushing pink. “I didn't think I'd scare you.”

 

“I was lost in the stars.”

 

He tilted his head up to look at the same night sky as her, and she chided herself for letting her cheeks grow pink. What sort of silliness was that? “I cannot reach them.” He dropped his chin and grinned at her. A year ago she could not have imagined being the cause of his smile. She could not have imagined such a grim man choosing her to smile at. She could not have imagined this. She stopped pulling at her shawl, stopped treating it like a barrier.

 

“Perhaps you need to drink more.”

 

“No.” His refusal was not harsh. He was looking at her like he wanted to drink her up instead. “How can you make it all the way up there? It must be lonely being alone with the stars.”

 

“I'm not sure. I just try. I don't mind it. I'm not afraid of being alone.”

 

He reached over and took her hands, “You're lying.”

 

“How do you know?”

 

“You smile your 'princess' smile.”

 

“That's not true”

 

“It is.”

 

“I don't want it to be true.”

 

“You are not alone, princess.”

 

“No,” she said, her hands holding his tightly, “not right now.”

 

“You won't be.”

 

“That's not true.”

 

“I won't let you be. I won't let you feel alone.”

 

He looked at her in such a way that she almost believed him and it broke her heart. She wondered if this was how Éowyn had felt when Ella had promised never to let her feel sadness again. She glanced over at her brothers, who were not looking at her. She felt the weight of the wine on her lips and limbs and the pretty haze it made in her head.

 

“I need air. Come walk with me.”

 

If he was bothered that she did not reply to his promise, he did not show it. He stood and offered her his hand again, and she took it. Now she could feel eyes on them. Though she knew that he must have had at least as much to drink as her, Éomer walked in a straight line. She could only tell he had been drinking from his grip on her hand and the way his other hand found her lower back to keep her walking forward. She knew her brothers were watching but neither they nor Éomer seemed to mind much. Ella wanted to say something to Éowyn but she was wrapped around Faramir, their foreheads pressed together, lost in each other. Ella felt something in her stomach tighten. She didn't think their love story had begun with Éowyn begging Faramir to kiss her.

 

 _Begging_ was a strong word, she thought, _asking_ didn't make her feel better. His hand in hers made her feel better. The wine made her feel better.

 

They ended up on the east tower, the same tower Ella had watched Mordor from. Now there was nothing to look for, only things that had been returned to her. Only things to hold close.

 

“Éomer?” The wind was rough up here, it pulled at her dress and her hair and she let it take her shawl away over the walls. She turned to make sure he was still there. He was. He put his arms around her so she would not go flying.

 

“Is this enough air for you?”

 

She grinned at him, “No. Yes. Not when you're so close to me.”

 

“Should I let go?”

 

“No.”

 

She could feel his hands tracing her back. Gently and with infinite patience he found the scars she had tried to hide. Some were small and hidden, others ran long and deep and still pained her when the nights grew cold. She didn't try to stop him. The Prince she might eventually marry probably would not want his bride to carry scars, but Éomer was a warrior and he would understand. He carried his own scars, she had seen them. He dipped his head down and kissed the scar on her shoulder. She closed her eyes tightly around the haziness of the wine and tried to keep this memory. She tried to keep it fresh in her mind. She wasn't brave enough to return the gesture but her fingers still twined in his shirt. Would her future prince make her feel like she was flying too?

 

“We should go back, They'll wonder where we are.”

 

But she knew he meant, _they'll wonder what we're doing_ so she nodded but neither of them moved. She didn't ask this time, just tipped her face up to his and he knew to kiss her. Now she could taste the wine on him and he moved slowly to make sure he was not clumsy. They were so high up and the air tasted different up here. She wanted to ask him if he was kissing her because she had asked him to get air. If he kissed her because she had tilted her head just so and invited him to do it or because he wanted to. She wondered if he saw her freckles and her eyes and her lips and cheeks and all that made her who she was, and put it all together into someone a man would desire. No. Something more than someone to be _desired_. Someone to be cared about. Someone to be loved. Love was a big word. One she had never used for anyone she kissed or imagined kissing, or even knew she would have to kiss when she married. Not love then, but whatever came before it. In that case she wondered if he saw her stubborn streak, her laughter, her ferocity, her loneliness. She was many things. She wanted him to want those things. She pulled away slightly, her eyes laughing.

 

“Dance with me.”

 

“Are we going back?”

 

“No. I don't want to. I want to stay up here.”

 

“You want to dance up here?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“I am not much for dancing. Left-footed.” He combed his fingers through his blond hair, Ella could see the way he shifted from foot to foot. He was muscled and large and tall, and she had never seen him move in a way that was not confident. Did they not dance in Rohan? She should ask him, but if they did and he was not good at it then it wouldn't be a very nice question. It was possible they did not and he had never learned how to. That wouldn't be nice to bring up either.

 

“I don't care. No one is up here.” She grinned and did a little spin, then she did another one just to watch her dress twirl around her again and because it felt nice on her warm skin to invite the breeze against her. “I just want you to dance with me.”

 

He laughed and pulled her close, his hand pressed against her lower back. She put her hands on the back of his neck and shifted to one side, then the other. He moved like he was made of wood and it made her like him more. She wondered if Éowyn was as bad at dancing as her brother. She hoped so. She liked people who were not perfect. She fell in love with their flaws.

 

Not love. She did not love Éomer, and she could not. The wine was speaking. It was only the wine. Not her. Just the wine.

 

Dancing was mostly holding, and holding was mostly laughing and kissing. This was an addiction that Ella had not realized a person could form. Being held by someone was nice, and having him to claim as her own was nicer. It was worse than the wine. It didn't let up even after hours had passed.

 

It was almost daybreak when the two stumbled back down to the garden. The sky was just barely starting to go grey. There were no comments on their red lips and mussed hair. Ella knew what it looked like but she didn't know how to make it _not_ look like that, and it wasn't. Only, she didn't know how to make herself stop smiling or stop looking for him in the crowd. Even though she knew she shouldn't she accepted more wine which made her sink deeper into softness and darkness.

 

She woke hours later, the sun shining onto her and Éowyn who was sprawled onto her bed, her blond hair strewn over her open mouth. Ella would have laughed if her head was not aching so. She wanted water, and she needed food. She needed to get Éowyn awake and moving and she didn't want to do anything except go back to sleep. Instead she rolled out of bed and stumbled to the water jug that had been laid out for them next to a basin for washing.

 

“Éowyn.”

 

When she got no response, Ella tried again, louder this time. “ _Éowyn._ ”

 

“ _No_.”

 

“You're getting married. You _must_ leave the bed. I've made many things move that were once immobile for this one day, but I cannot have you married in my bed. It would be improper.”

 

Éowyn began to laugh and that at least got her from the bed. “ _That_ would be improper? What would the Princess of Dol Amroth call disappearing with the bride's brother for half of the night?”

 

Ella almost choked on her water. This hardly seemed fair, considering the amount of looks exchanged between Éowyn and Faramir she had tactfully ignored. She had hoped Éowyn would do her a similar courtesy. “Dancing?”

 

“Dancing?”

 

“It was simply that. Dancing. I made him dance with me, but I was too shy to do it where everyone could see.”

 

“And you made my brother dance for hours?”

 

“He was terrible.”

 

“Ella...” Unlike Ella, Éowyn still looked fresh, she moved to take Ella's cup and drank deep.

 

“And we kissed.”

 

“Yes?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“And nothing more?”

 

“Nothing. I swear it.”

 

“Would you tell me if it was more?”

 

Ella considered this, but wasn't sure if she could answer truthfully, she could feel that traitorous blush creep up on her cheeks. “I'm not sure. I think so... But, we should not talk about it now. You must bathe and get dressed and marry my cousin and-”

 

“El-”

 

Éowyn took Ella's hands in hers, her eyes unreadable but searching in the way they did. Nothing that was untrue could make it past her gaze. Ella for her own part did not look away. The mire of emotions she carried in the pit of her stomach settled for a moment. Éowyn knew her brother and Ella trusted her above almost everyone else. When she spoke, Ella listened.

 

“My brother is not a cruel man.” Éowyn's voice was soft but firm, she pressed her hand against Ella's brow, “And he does not play games. Whatever you do now, consider it real. Consider it a mark of his feelings to you and yours for him. If you wish to kiss him again, know that you do not do it as a child, but as a Princess and a woman. Know that there is a point where such affection begins to bind you in heart and mind.”

 

Ella was silent, and she knew Éowyn was right. She knew it had already started. That it had started long before she had pressed her lips to his.

 

“You are not a child, Ella. Such things are not wrong.”

 

“No.” Ella gave Éowyn a wry grin as she pulled away. She reached her hands into the basin of water. “But I am not a great king's wife either. So they are not particularly right, are they?” Before Éowyn could answer, Ella plunged her head deep into the water.

 

 

 


	13. Chapter 13

 

As she had promised, the wedding was in a field under open skies. There wasn't much mud, though Ella kept looking up at the sky and hoping that a stray cloud would start some rain just as the vows were said. That would make the wedding perfect, as far as she was concerned.

 

No one seemed to mind that the bride and groom had slight dark circles under their eyes. There was so much green and sun and wind that Ella almost doubted that anyone noticed. She liked watching the courtiers contend with their scarves and airy skirts being swept this way and that. It was like a dance. Ella was standing next to Amrothos and she had tied her own dress into a knot to gather all the fabric and keep it from flying up. Her hair was plaited with flowers and the tendrils kept hitting Amrothos in the face, but he was being a good sport about it. The siblings were holding hands, and Ella put her head on his shoulder. She knew Amrothos was thinking of the bride he had lost. He always did, during these sorts of things. She wondered if he would ever find another girl who could fit into his heart, or if he had spent so long mourning his Sienna that his heart was still raw. Not healing, not growing, not changing. She lifted his knuckles to her lips and kissed his hand before swinging their hands between them. _I'll never leave you, silly brother. It'll be you and I forever, I bet._

 

Now that the wedding was in front of her, the gravity of it all hit her. She kept turning to look for Éomer and to find him looking at her, and neither of them seemed to know what the right thing to do was. A marriage was a contract. It was an alliance, and Gondor and Rohan were allied now. So few people could claim that love was involved too, and yet here they were with Faramir and Éowyn almost missing their cues because they were talking quietly to each other and were smiling too hard, laughing and crying a little bit.

 

This was the love of an age... but King Aragorn and his elven Queen were also the love of an age, and there seemed like there could be only so many ageless loves before everyone else would have to settle for an agreeable companion who did not snore or come to bed too late.

 

She could not imagine Éomer being someone who snored, but she could barely imagine actually coming to any bed that he was nearby. Unless he was ill.. andshe did not want to think of him being ill.

 

Amrothos bent down and kissed the top of her head. “It's well done, Birdy. If only you could take your eyes off of the King of Rohan long enough to admire your own work.”

 

“Some of us are able to focus on two things at once, brother.”

 

“He would be a good husband, if you can get Father to agree. He is wealthy and a true warrior. He calls many good men, including the King, his friends. He is smart, and good natured enough. He's rough when he's upset, but he has a fondness for you. I like him.”

 

“Well then, as long as _you_ like him!”

 

It worried her that her brother was speaking to her about such things. He must be worried that something had happened the night before and that her honour was at stake. They should have been more careful, Éomer and her, but there was nothing to confess. No good secrets. No good reason to panic or force a union that Éomer could not want and which would trap them both. Éomer would need to marry someone within his own country. A lady of high standing to secure the loyalty of the nobles within his lands. Ella felt her mood sour, and as if he could sense it, Amrothos pulled her into an embrace. “I just want you to be happy, little bird.”

 

“I just want _you_ to be happy, but you keep refusing.” It was an odd thing to say to Amrothos who was always very happy, but Ella realized as she said it that it was true. Or maybe he had become less happy as he discovered there was less and less to do.

 

The pair grew silent as Éowyn and Faramir made their final vows. It did not rain, so the fields did not turn to mud, but there was a fuss as the couple kissed deeply and too long, and some prominent families tried to start leaving only to find that the banquet would be outdoors as well. Ella knew that having every part of the day under open skies might have been considered overdone, but she had made a promise, and she, under no circumstances would allow Éowyn to feel enclosed.

 

Ella's father stood out from the crowd as he came towards his daughter, he was taller than almost anyone around him. Without much fuss, he took his daughter's arm and began to walk with her. There were so many people to greet and so much to keep an eye on, but the two veered away from the crowds, their heads tilting towards each other as they talked.

 

“It is a good wedding, Daughter. The weather is good. Everything is moving as it should.”

 

“I cannot take credit for the weather, Father, and it is the servants who are doing the moving. We are lucky to have such hard workers to help us. We should let them join in the feast. Make Lord Iphram fetch his own meat for once.”

 

“Birdy...”

 

“There are lines?”

 

“Yes, and that is one.”

 

“Yes.”

 

“I _am_ proud of you.” He spoke softly, and she knew he was seeing her mother in her hair and her hands, in her wry little smile that none of her brothers had inherited. He was seeing his daughter as both mother and father and was pleased with what he saw. Ella feel herself flush, she smiled shyly under the weight of her father's attention and approval.

 

“I love you, Father.”

 

He stooped to kiss her cheek, and from behind him she saw Éowyn and Éomer deep in conversation, both of them with their eyes locked on her. She frowned at them. Had she a bit more tact reserved for her friends, she might have pretended not to see them, she might have turned to her father and basked in his notice for a little while longer before he heard of her many indiscretions. Or noticed them himself. She did not do those things

 

“Father, will you excuse me?”

 

He nodded as he caught sight of the pair from Rohan. “The Bride has lost her Bridegroom.”

 

“It is careless of her,” agreed Lothiriel. She shot Éowyn a questioning look and the girl shook her head. That was not an answer Ella could use so she looked to Éomer who was starting to turn dark with anger. She had not seen him angry like this before. She had heard once or twice of his outbursts. Rage was not a side he showed her, even when he was most upset with her. Ella shot one last look to her father and then went to join Éowyn and Éomer, her face growing pale and drawn in her concern.

 

“It did not thunder even once today,” She said under her breath, though when a Lord passed by them, her face grew animated and her smile appeared on cue, “So why does your face grown dark as a storm?”

 

Éomer did not reply, his jaw grown so tight that she could see the bone, sharp as steel.

 

“They called me a whore.” Éowyn said lightly, “A whore of Rohan. Come to steal the good men of Gondor to my side, and...? I'm not sure what I'm to do with them after they're stolen. Love them, I suppose. Which is quite the crime.”

 

“Who said this?” Ella felt her frustration mount and it made her throat tight and her eyes sting. She wasn't slow to cry, was the daughter of Imrahil. In anger, in sadness, in laughter, she felt the tears sting her eyes. It wasn't fair. She had been so careful, had sat everyone where there would be no arguments, she had arranged everything so that it was shocking but not _too_ shocking. She had promised perfection, and now here came the guests to ruin it. They should have gone to a goatherd after all.

 

“Put no mind to it.” Éowyn was the least ruffled by these insults, “We are foreigners now, but we _will_ have friendship. We will grow it until it is strong as twine and twice as thick.”

 

“I will have names.” Éomer's voice came like a growl and it made Ella feel sick.

 

“You will not.” Ella turned to Éowyn, “Tell them to me, when we are alone and I will make sure it does not happen again. I will not have this day marred, not like this. Find Faramir. Stab anyone who gets in your way.”

 

“Ella...” Éowyn was starting to smile, but Éomer was not placated. He turned on Ella.

 

“That is not your place, Lothiriel, my sister has been insulted. I _will_ have names.”

 

“And I have said that you _will not._ ” Ella didn't know how she managed to make her voice so strong or how it had become the voice of a queen, but she could feel it. She liked the way it felt. She liked the way it made her shoulders roll back and her chin lift. She met Éomer's eyes with ones grown dark and sure. She could sense it was not just her in the way her two companions shifted suddenly to look at her. The way their eyes, always kind towards her, changed just slightly. “This is not your domain, King Éomer. It is King Elessar's and he will not have fighting on a day of peace and union. You may call your duel, and risk your friendships if you wish it, but it will not be today and it will not be now. Make your peace with this or leave.”

 

Éowyn looked to the two of them, caught now between her brother and the girl who had become her sister. She knew neither of them were in the right, but neither in the wrong and it was for her honour they fought so fiercely. She noted, with some amusement that they were like a lion and his lioness caught in moment of battle.

 

Ella made the choice for Éowyn, perhaps knowing that if she left her long enough, it would be with her brother she sided. “I will not hear of violence, Éomer, King. I will not hear of it, or I will know where it came from and I will not forgive it.” She made sure she did not break. She made sure she did not smile, and she left them there with that surety that she would take care of the problem.

 

There were several families she could have gone to. Dissent was not a language only heard during dark times, and she knew the secrets of every family of note from Dol Amroth to Osgiliath, and every province in between. She cursed the timing of this particular incident, noting that the banquet would be set and she might not get to eat. She was starving. At her own wedding, she decided, they would eat first and the ceremony would be short and private. Then she would eat again.

 

“My lady?” Mirella knew her mistress like she knew the count of stairs from the kitchens to the dining hall and from the dining halls to the gardens. She knew each expression on her charge's face because she had watched them being created. She has seen the sorrow that had etched her eyes so large and deep, and she had seen the happiness that had spread her lips wide. She had seen each moment in Ella's life and could tell you where each dimple had come from, each scar and each line. She knew the impatient shake of her head that Ella's mother had done. She knew the small line of frustration that broke her brow in two that her father had given her as his gift. She knew which curve of the face belonged to her grandmother, and which curve has come from falling down stairs. Mirella had been Ella's nurse since the girl was born and the woman had been fifteen and she knew when her mistress was in need, and when that need would surely spell trouble.

 

“Mella, there was news about Lord Iphraim this morning, was there not?”

 

“Yes, Milady. The Lord was upset, he asked for gold to repair his lands in the north. No gold was given, and he cursed the weddings of foreigners for 'siphoning away the treasury.'”

 

“I thought so. Lady Gisla, she looked sour this morning.”

 

“Her daughter was set to marry Faramir. Almost five years ago there was a betrothal drawn up between Lord Denethor and the Late Lord Ferenth. It was not completed and Lord Ferenth died in the siege of Minas Tirith.”

 

“That is quite tragic. Poor Widow Gisla. Loss can make us bitter. The Benard Twins. I heard something of them, what did I hear?”

 

“Their lands, lady. They were on a disputed border, on the map they are Rohirrim lands, but they had been long abandoned. Now the border is being reexamined, they stand to lose all their worth.”

 

Mirella knew that Ella knew this information. The girl stored facts in her brain like wine in an amphora, and she did now know the girl to forget a thing. So many thoughts, Mirella opined, were likely to get mixed in one head, and so she often laid out information for the princess like a human quill.

 

“Lord Iphraim already owes the treasury more than he can hope to repay in this generation or the next, I would not want to be him should someone get a hold of his accounts.”

 

“No Milady, it would be quite a blow to the family.”

 

“And Widow Gisla's daughter has been with babe on and off for years now, and no true husband to name. How will they start to explain all the 'good- children' they keep out of charity looking so like their mistress?”

 

“An awkward situation, Lady.”

 

“And the twins... Oh, the twins. It would be so easy to solve that dispute. They should not gamble on unkind words.”

 

Mirella shook her head. Her mistress was kind to her friends, and kinder to those who had none, but she was a dangerous opponent to have and she would not wish her fury on anyone. Privately, Mirella wished her mistress was not so brazen in her knowledge. Rarely did she wield it, but when she did, the Kingdom trembled. The girl was proud and cocky and sure, and it was dangerous to be so certain of oneself.

 

“Mirella, you look troubled.”

 

When Ella was upset, her face grew flushed and dark and her scars showed up bright and vulnerable. Mirella felt her heart go to the girl. Then she took her heart back and gave her her mind.

 

“I think it is unwise to curse a wedding with such machinations.”

 

“Pardon me?”

 

“It is an dark omen, Princess. A dark omen you would call to the wedding of those you claim to love. We have seen true evil, and what you fight are the rumblings of jealous men and women who do not know how to be happy. Do not ruin them just to show that you can.”

 

Ella, Mirella thought, was always thinking. She carried a million thoughts and did not always stop to focus on the one right in front of her path.

 

“There will be a day, princess, when you will need to use what you know. Not today.”

 

Mirella did not know where Ella got her understanding from. Her mother had used to agree to what was said and then go off and do as she pleased. Her father was a stone who did not move until he had heard every argument and who made his own choice and did not falter from it. Ella was unique then. Not made of her parents in this way, but of herself alone, she listened and she changed. She nodded once, shortly.

 

“You're right.”

 

“My lady?”

 

“I said, you're right.”

 

“I know, Milady. I heard you. What will you do?”

 

“I will make a lovely speech. I will look into the eyes of every man and woman I suspect of trouble and I will let them know that Rohan is our ally and the people of Rohan our closest friends and that I am sure they agree. And they _will_ know where I stand. There will be no doubt.”

 

Mirella thought the speech _was_ lovely. Ella did not have a poetic way with words but she had a lot of them and eventually her earnestness was endearing. The princess looked less angry once she had some food in her, and eventually there was dancing and laughter. Even the sour King of Rohan softened and Mirella guessed that it had been his anger that had flamed Ella's own ire. She shook her head. Her princess was headstrong and silly and she loved her dearly. She was also shy among men in a way that was nothing to do with quietness. No, her Princess didn't understand the ways of the heart or how they could be spoken or shown outside of simply being told, and she would suffer for it before she got herself a quiet, gentle, simple husband to listen to her talk.

 

Already Mirella could see the way her eyes tracked the King of Rohan who stubbornly refused to ask her to dance. He in turn rarely looked away from her and he grew stiff when she danced with anyone who was not her family. Ella was quietly begging him and he was quietly begging her and both of them were miserable.

 

Mirella had seen her mistress become a queen, even if it had been for only a moment. She was born of a line of good blood and high stations, but a true crown was not in the cards for Ella, not really. Or, it hadn't been. Now she wondered to herself if there was some things even a nursemaid might miss.

 


	14. Chapter 14

The day after the wedding there was already talk of the King of Rohan's anger and the ruin he had made of his alliance with Gondor. If Ella had been speaking to Éomer, which she distinctly was not, she would have told him to be more subtle in his manner. She would have told him to keep his anger to himself and wait until the time was right to mend what needed mending and put those in their place who had wandered too far out of it.

 

That was not advice that she was taking herself, as she studiously avoided Éomer. Once, as he walked down the halls of the keep, Éomer caught sight of the princess with a mountain of books in her arms, and her nursemaid beside. Their eyes met for a moment and suddenly Ella turned on her heels, and walked back in the direction she had come, leaving poor Mirella to curtsey and try to catch up to her mistress who was swift even with the weight of a library in her hands.

 

Éowyn explained to her brother, with a patience he recognized as new in her, that Ella was not displeased at his anger at the wedding, but rather that he had not made amends with her nor asked her to dance even once as an act of reconciliation. Éomer, who felt that it was Ella who had made the break between them, did not recognize this was the accepted fact for repairing relationships, and he found his mood souring more and more as the day went on, turned into night and then became the pale light of morning once more.

 

Indeed the princess was everywhere in the keep around him. When he entered the rooms that belonged to her family, he could see her touch in every corner. The servants wore the colours of Dol Amroth and the women pinned their hair like her, and all carried a little notebook to write down numbers and thoughts to present to their mistress at the end of the day. Ella's favourite blooms, bright, giant sunflowers could be found in every room, either woven into tapestries or in large vases for the princess to enjoy. It was embroidered into her family's handkerchiefs. Her family too carried her mannerisms in ways Éomer had not noticed before. Amrothos twisted his mouth to the side when he was thinking, just as Ella did, and Elphir's little children had her lilting voice in their throats when they played and teased. Even Prince Imrahil's calm, steady gaze with his sea grey eyes reminded Éomer of Ella's stubborn expression. None of Prince Imrahil's children, nor the man himself seemed to think any differently of the King, and neither did they place Ella's aloofness at Éomer's feet, though he would have taken the blame if they had.

 

In every disagreement the two had had, Éomer had become used to waiting for Ella to extend an olive branch and let him know it was time for a reconciliation. This time, however, the branch did not come. He thought he could wait until one of them faltered in their resolve, but he knew his days in Minas Tirith were numbered and he did not think he wanted to waste that number. Had he been paying closer attention, he might have found that Ella was desperate for him to reach out, but not so desperate as to bend and beg.

 

He had hoped to find the princess in her rooms, but Mirella was the only occupant, her eyes full of judgement even as she politely led him out of Ella's chambers and advised him to look for her in the gardens, or in the library. Éomer knew the woman was more clever by half than she let on and that Ella trusted her without question. He wondered if Mirella knew what Ella's feeling for him might be, or if indeed the nursemaid knew of her charge's wilder impulses. It bothered him, he realized, that someone else might more clearly see the pieces of his life than he himself could and it made him surly to the woman, though he tried not to be.

 

The princess was in the gardens, stretched along a bench, her hair loose and touching the ground, and her face turned up and quiet. She was not asleep but close enough to it. He could see books and embroidery half spilling out of a satchel which had been abandoned on the floor.

 

“Lothiriel...” He tried to keep his voice quiet to avoid startling her, but he saw that her shoulders jumped anyway.

 

She would have snapped to sitting had he done the same even days before. Instead she shifted slowly on the bench to make room for him, drawing her hands over a tired face and rubbing at her eyes. She drew her knees up underneath herself and turned just slightly so she could see him. Without speaking, he joined her. He wasn't sure whether to reach for her hand or not but found that he wanted to. Ella pulled closer, and he found his arms around her, and her forehead on his shoulder. They were silent.

 

“I'm an ass.”

 

He hoped that she would raise her eyes and laugh but she didn't. She groaned into his shoulder, and it took another few moments before she pulled away.

 

He wondered if this meant she forgave him. If having her wrapped in his arms meant that the events of the wedding were forgotten. He thought back to the ceremony, before the whispers had distracted him, when he had looked at her and thought 'she could be a wife', but he hadn't thought 'she could be _my_ wife.'. That thought had not crossed his mind in that way but he had certainly looked for her in the crowd and thought, “she might be a wife soon.' and he had thought that he couldn't picture her marrying some faceless man, though neither could he picture her beside him.

 

“I had this odd idea.” She said, and it sounded forced in his ears. “A bit of girlish stupidity, and I'm going to tell you about it and you'll remind me what foolishness it is.”

 

“Yes?”

 

“You should have danced with me at the wedding, and you did not.”

 

“Is that the foolishness?”

 

“No.” She frowned, and he knew that mean she already regretted what she was going to say but was committed now to saying it. “You should have danced with me and I would have forgiven you your harshness, and you didn't and I wonder if it means you do not care how I view you at all.”

 

Éomer was not sure he understood and he didn't want to ask her and so he was silent as he thought her 'foolishness' over. Ella waited on his words, but he found he had none and she turned colder and harder the longer it took him to answer. He could not be sure, but he thought perhaps the thing she was chiding herself over was thinking that he _did_ care, and he did. He thought highly of Ella, and fondly as well though he found himself lost more often than not when it came to how he felt about her. Then he thought perhaps the foolishness was putting so much meaning on dancing, which might well have been it, but then she would not be so distant.

 

She broke his long silence by standing, flustered and starting to turn red. “It does not matter. I should go. You'll be in for dinner tonight, I hope? Father was hoping to speak with you regarding a trade agreement of some sort.”

 

“Ella...”

 

“Oh,” she said with a hint of her own anger, “It has a tongue!”

 

“Ella-”

 

“Good. You've found my name again, that'll be helpful. Next you can learn 'sorry' and then you can go, I think.”

 

She was silent then and still, and Éomer could see she wanted to leave and was trying desperately not to do so, because she wanted to see him stay. Ella, he thought, tried to best to stay when she needed to, but her instinct was to run. Her instinct was to leave when things hurt too much. It struck him that he had been the one to hurt her and he didn't like the feeling.

 

He wondered how best to explain the hours he had filled with meetings how those distractions lessened her distance. He had hoped to come back to the keep and find he did not look for her. It worried him that he had spent a ceremony looking for her smile, and that he had heard her speak and thought 'this woman could be a good queen'. He wanted to explain, he would marry someone of high status who held lands and title in Rohan. He imagined that Ella already knew his obligations. So it was best he did not make amends in such a way that their lips might touch again, or that he would be tempted to mix together 'she could be a wife' and 'she could be a queen' with 'she could be _my_ wife' and 'she could be _my_ queen'. Those were dangerous thoughts to have when you were a fresh made king.

 

“I should go.” He stood abruptly and they were chest to chest. She had her arms folded and her expression was distinctly sour. He leaned down and kissed her cheek. “I am sorry. I was angry and you were angry and we were not very good at being angry together. I wish I could be angry with you.”

 

“You want to be angry with _me_? I-” she grew redder and seemed ready to shove him away or hit him, or both.

 

“No. I- I want to be angry _with_ you. I want us to be angry together. At others. Not between us.”

 

“Must it be anger? Surely we could find another emotion that could do just as well.”

 

“I should go Ella. I- I am still very fond of you.”

 

But she turned her back to him and he saw her face fall, “You don't seem to understand, Éomer, it isn't enough to be fond of me any longer. You can't say, 'I'm fond of you' and leave as if you must justify why you keep me around you. I don't want to be your queen, but neither do I wish to be your pet. 'I'm very fond of my hound. It is a good hound. It's a bit silly, but I'm fond of it.'. I have better things to do than follow you. Fond is fine, but it is not enough.”

 

“What would you like to be?” His eyes found hers, but she turned away again and gathered her things, she began to walk away from him, and her words turned into murmur he barely heard.

 

“I don't know. I had hoped we could decide together.”

 

“I do not think so, Princess.”

 

“No.” She said. “Neither do I.” And then she was gone,

 

Éomer grew nervous as dinner approached that Ella would tell her family that she had broke her friendship with the King of Rohan and he would no longer be welcome at their table. He felt a hardness in his throat when he thought of it that made it difficult to swallow. Ella's family had become his own in feeling, and now even in marriage, and he did not think he would handle a divide between them with grace. He respected her house, and held close to him the evenings spent in their company. He might have called them his true family had he chosen his words more carefully, he thought, but quickly threw that thought away. It was a dangerous one to have.

 

The girl told no one, Éomer knew it to be the case as soon as he sat to dinner. Éomer had thought that Amrothos and Prince Imrahil would be cold to him, or that Éowyn and Faramir would question him silently. It was not so, all followed it's usual path except for Ella's delayed arrival at the table. The princess almost missed the soup, her favourite lemongrass broth and though her air was of one with too much to do and not enough time to so it, she had obviously made an effort to look put together and as striking as she could make her features be. Éomer noted, and it surprised him most of all, that even Mirella did not shoot him an angry look, she did not even spare a glance his way when Ella dismissed her. He kept waiting for something terrible to happen but it did not. The food was good and the conversation was quick and easy between them, full of Faramir and Éowyn's plans, King Elessar's plans for battle with the Easterlings, and Prince Imrahil's subsequent return to Dol Amroth.

 

Ella was thoughtful and quick, a little spark at the dinner table. She ate little and making her fair share of jokes at their expense. She was as she always was, too loud, too quick to speak over someone. It was her way. She smiled brightly at Éomer and asked him and the table how their days were. She apologized for her lateness and promised them news. Her smile didn't reach her eyes and it bothered Éomer that no one else seemed to notice. Her mask was very good. As good as it had been when first he had come for dinner. Perhaps better now, since then he has easily seen who was the pretend girl and who was the real one then, and had found it harder now. He waited for someone to ask why she was upset, or why she was so odd, for the more he saw the break between her disguise the more he wanted to comfort her. He could not, it was not his place any longer and it had never really been. He never should have let himself reach for her.

 

He wanted Amrothos to say something or to see Éowyn brush Ella's hand or cheek for a moment, but no one did. At one point Éomer grew so desperate that he reached for a dish just as Ella did, simply to touch her hand. She noticed only at the last moment and snatched her hand away, her lips turning down for a moment and her eyes growing dark and sad before she caught herself and brought her smile back. It was accusing. _I've never been unkind to you. How could you hurt me like this?_

 

He wasn't sure how he had managed to get himself so knotted and unsure. He had been certain of himself earlier. Certain of his choice and certain that Ella was not for him. He had been certain that he could not be right for her. Now, she treated him like a stranger, and he did not like it. Was it easy for her to stop whatever she had felt? Was it easy for her to turn him back into a foreign prince? It was not easy to un-see her dancing on a high tower, nor was it easy to forget the way she drew her knees up underneath herself. Those who knew her best knew she did it to think. They knew it meant she was not calm, was not centred, was not herself.

 

It struck him most that he would never again know her secrets. Ella would no longer tell him her fears in confidence. She would no longer trust him with her silly thoughts, nor with her ideas for the future or her decisions on the past.

 

He knew he would miss her. Would she miss him nearly as much?

 

 

 


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This brings us up to date with what has currently been written. Almost done Chapter 16!

 

Life did not settle, as Prince Imrahil had hoped, once Éomer left Minas Tirith. On the contrary, though his daughter was less distracted, and the city back to normal now that the festivities were finished, there was still much to do and nothing to allow for a delay. Now the real work began.

 

The war on the Easterlings was just beginning and with it came the planning and intricate relocating, allocating, and replacing. Elphir, who was without his hand was set to rule as regent of Belfalas while the rest of the family went to war, but he refused to be left behind, and when he proved he could fight just as well with the limbs he still had remaining, his father allowed that he should join them. Amrothos too refused to consider the regency, and so Lothiriel was to be left in Dol Amroth, with the city at her command. She had thought to beg her way along to the war camp. Unlike the battle of Mordor, a longer campaign meant months away from Gondor and camps always needed those who were good with numbers to keep them running properly. If anything could keep her thoughts from wandering where they had no right to wander, Ella imagined that a camp in the middle of a war might do it. However, when her father came to her and informed her of his decision, Ella knew that there was nothing to ask. Her brothers were bred for battle, and she was bred to follow commands and issue them. She would be one of the most powerful people left in the country, and she was without choice in this matter.

 

For the next month, Ella was to follow her father around like a shadow, learning everything she did not already know about running the province. The biggest difference between her Father's job and her own were the decisions. They saw the same numbers, they heard the same pleas, and she sat next to him when he held court, but where Ella had always simply provided information and the occasional opinion, now she would be held accountable for every choice she made.

 

Her Father, meanwhile, focused on setting everything as he wanted it before leaving on the campaign. He was in constant communication with King Elessar and King Éomer, and began to notice that Ella had stopped sending letters to the latter though she did receive several from him. He asked her about this while they ate a private dinner, much past the appropriate time for the meal. She did not tell him the truth, which was unlike her, and only allowed that she had been busy and overwhelmed by their lessons in governance. When the time came to send the next bunch of letters, however, she found she had nothing to write. In big, looping script she wrote ' _The weather is nice in Dol Amroth',_ closed and sealed the letter with wax and sent it.

 

The reply back was as stilted as the last few had been. In response Ella wrote. ' _Weather less nice now. Cold by the water.'_. She sealed it and sent it. She did consider sending only blank pages after a while, but though her quill froze over the surface of the parchment when she imagined writing a true letter to the King of Rohan, she did always find something she could say about the weather and it made her feel less guilty. To make up for it, she would send letters of an unseemly length to Éowyn, and since the two were related, it seemed like a proper amount of words for one family to get.

 

It became clear to Ella that she had not fooled her father, nor eased his concern towards the nature of her relationship with Éomer, whatever it had been and whatever it had become. He introduced her to Prince Darian, Prince of Pelargir only a week after their return to Dol Amroth, and within the month, the two were officially betrothed.

 

In a letter to her, Éomer wrote. “ _I was heartily surprised to hear of your betrothal, I had not realized it would come so soon, nor that your father was entertaining offers for your hand. I hope that Prince Darian paid out the nose for his future wife, and I wish you every blessing you deserve. I had hoped we might meet before your wedding, that I may offer my warmest congratulations.”_

 

Ella replied: ' _There are storms starting to form out on the sea. We had not realized they would come so early this year and it is very worrisome. There are many clouds.”_

 

Prince Darian did not pay out the nose for the honour of marring Ella, and neither was her dowry outrageous. It was considered by most to be an exceptionally well matched engagement, and it caused interest for a day or two before it was forgotten.

 

Indeed Prince Darian was a well-mannered sort, and though Ella did not feel much towards him when they met, she was starting to develop a sort of fondness for him. He had a face that was broad about the cheekbones but lean and simple everywhere else. His was trained in battle, but he was not a warrior when it could be helped. When he took Ella's hand to lead her to dinner, his were barely callused. He was tall and lean and walked with a limp from an injury during the war. He was older than Ella would have liked her husband to be, but not so old as he could have been. He was smart, and gentle with his dogs and servants, Ella didn't mind his company and she liked debating with him. Her Father asked her consent before agreeing to the match and Ella had granted it with an open mind and meant it. She imagined that she and Prince Darian would be happy together. Besides, the wedding would wait until the Easterlings were defeated, and though he was not a warrior, Prince Darian was set to attend the campaign, perhaps in an effort to impress Prince Imrahil, and his sons, who were rather less open to men about their sister after the rumors that had surrounded her friendship with Éomer. This did not seem fair. One was her future husband and one was not.

 

Ella received a letter from Éowyn which told her of the woman's pregnancy just as the men were set to ride. Three months from the wedding exactly and Éowyn told her that she was beginning to show just slightly, and that she did not care if it was a boy or a girl so long as the child was healthy. She invited Ella to Ithilien once she was _'round as a sweet bun and too portly to do my own errands._ ' and Ella accepted, even though she was not, in fact, certain that she would be free to leave at that point. She sent her long reply back with the men and retreated to the castle. She did not watch them ride away. She was damned tired of watching people ride away from her.

 

As she settled herself in her father's large chair, she felt a terrible weight settle over her chest. Terrible and great and it stopped her breath for a moment. She pictured herself learning to swim with her mother who had been half ocean, everyone whispered. She did not remember much about those days before her lady Mother got sick, but this was a memory that she held inside her body. Every sensation had seared itself to her very bones and she could feel the briny water under her skin. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath in, as Mother had instructed her.

 

“ _Breath and you'll float. Do not fight the water, dearest, it will win and drag you down. Breath. Let it be.”_

 

Ella could feel the cold water lapping at her feet as she sat there. Her whole body broke out in goosebumps and she remembered how frightening the water had been. It had not been a clear day. It had been grey and choppy and windy, like today. Her mother had been in the water and she had looked serene, as though she swam in a temperate lake.

 

“ _Let your air go all the way. Then take a deep breath and dive. Open your eyes, it's a bit of stinging, that's all. The things that are worth can hurt a bit.”_

 

Ella exhaled, forcing all her air out in three short pushes. Then when she thought she might explode, she drew the air back into her lungs, deep, deep into her back and sides and forcing her ribs to expand and let it in. She opened her eyes and they stung from tears that did not fall.

 

Princess Lothiriel, Regent of Dol Amroth and all of Belfalas. _Be hard_ , she commanded herself, but all she saw was ocean. If she could not be like her father, she decided, she would be like her mother.

 

Eventually, sitting in her father’s seat grew easier. She did not wear her crown when she sat and held petitions, and she rarely even wore jewelry. She did not need to, the seat did the work for her. It commanded the room and towered over anyone who approached and though Ella _felt_ small when she sat it, she knew that the figure she became was imposing. Mirella had begun to dress her in darker and heavier fabrics and to tie her hair back tightly at the crown. It all gave Ella a headache but she did all she could to make her father proud, and she did not move until every petitioner was heard. Then she went to the study and began the tedious process of sorting letters and balancing accounts. When that was done, or as done as she could manage, she then moved on to the household management which was thankfully much reduced due to half the household having gone.

 

In bed, at the end of every day, she read her letters. There was usually at least one but sometimes five or six would arrive in a packet and those were the days she was up past any reasonable hour, devouring the words of her loved ones by the light of a dying candle.

 

Prince Darian's notes were always perfectly appropriate and affectionate in a way that Ella did not understand. She saw it as a lack of passion for her but she reasoned that being a wordsmith while on a battle ground was not something she required of her husband. There were sweet words in his letters and occasionally Ella let them melt into her heart if only because she was to marry this man, and still she knew so little about him. Her replies to him were similarly appropriate and often shorter than she would have liked. She did not know what he would want to read and often found the end of the letters dragging as she struggled to finish a page.

 

Éomer on the other hand continued to write her longer and longer letters that grew less stilted and less moderate as the campaign passed three months and started to bleed into four and then five. Her replies in turn also grew long and winding and though she mostly began with the weather, she started to note that they were returning to a sort of conversation that they had not had since before she had kissed him. It helped her breath sometimes, when she thought of their friendship being reforged, but letters were not deeds, and she knew she should not allow ink on a page to control her so completely.

 

Amrothos too wrote letters like mazes. One story turned into two stories, turned into four and ended with the first story once more. Often Ella lost track of the thread binding all his words together, but she did not mind and sometimes slept with her brother's words under her pillow when she was loneliest, which was often now that she was truly aware of the solitude her family had left her in. She did not mention this in any of her letters in return. Amrothos sounded happy and busy and she knew that battle suited him but she wanted desperately to have him home again so he could brighten up the halls of Dol Amroth.

 

In the bundle that carried their letter was another from Éowyn, reminding Ella to ride to Ithilien and tend to her soon as her time was drawing near. Faramir still remained in Ithilien, but Éowyn was adamant that she wanted a woman there, and particularly one who would not faint at the sight of blood. ' _And if you do,'_ warned the letter, ' _I will remind you of it at every opportunity, and there will be a great deal of birthdays, I'm told.'_

 

Ella soon grew anxious as she realized she would still hold the seat of regent when Éowyn's time came, and she was not sure she could leave the woman when she carried so much of her heart with her and her child. She did not think, despite the precarious nature of their friendship, that she could look Éomer in the eyes if she left his sister to bear her labour alone.

 

Riders came almost every day from the battle front and they assured her each time that the war would be over soon and that the Easterlings could not withstand their forces, and every day Ella asked, ' _When?'_ and after a while hearing ' _Soon_ ' wasn't enough.

 

She wrote to her Father, brothers, and Éomer all separately and threatened to ride to the front lines and end the war herself if they could not do the job as they had promised her. Éomer's letter came back the fastest, and she imagined that he had read her own and marched into his tent to reply before the same rider left.

 

_Dearest, Ella,_

 

 _The war is all but over and I couldn't vouch for any excitement you would gain from riding here. The nights are turned icy and the days drag grey and bitter and makes one wish for snow to end our suffering. I promise, Princess, that I will have those you love returned to you before the moon wanes, and I swear even more deeply that they will be unscathed and unscarred. I ask only that you remain where it is safe and_ wait _for our arrival before riding out to meet my sister through lands that might well have deserters roaming through them._

 

_I know your Father and Brothers would beg the same of you. Ella. DO NOT RIDE. I swear to you that we will be home in time to accompany you. I personally will escort you. Simply wait and see that this fighting will not last. Once more Ella, do not ride. Wait. It will all be over soon._

 

_Yours,_

_Éomer_

 

She replied:

 

 _'Mine'_ _Éomer,_

 

_The weather in Dol Amroth is bad for riding and worse for boats. I would start to walk if I thought I could get to Ithilien any faster that waiting out this storm. If I was not already of a mind to ride by the end of the week, I would certainly be of it now, having read your letter. I am damned tired of waiting. And I am particularly tired of waiting on you all who would rather fight in the sleet and the frigid rain than finish your business and return to your waiting wives and women and families. Mark my words, Éomer, I will not wait another month. I want my family returned to me and I want to ride to help yours grown. End this nonsense as you should have done months ago. It is not nice to play with your enemies. _

 

_-Ella_

 

His reply was short and curt:

 

_Ella,_

 

_No one is playing with anyone. I don't understand what you think I, personally, am doing to slow this campaign but perhaps it is best that you do not say it, as I doubt I would find it flattering. I am doing all I can. Let that be enough, princess._

 

_-Éomer, King of Rohan_

 

She fumed:

 

_Don't you King me,_

 

_I warned you, I ride on day after the full moon. Safe or not, your sister will give birth and I would like to know that her child is safely come into this world, and that the world indeed is safe for the child. Tell the damned fool men that run this campaign and I am sick_ _of war, I am sick of loneliness and I am sick of not being happy. I do not see why we must keep killing and losing lives to ensure that there will be no more killing and losing of lives. I want to live in peace and be with those I love. That is all. Bring my family home safe. It is all I ask of you. I won't write you another angry letter, I won't bother you again. I won't even blink in your direction. Just bring them back to me._

 

_-Ella_

 

_Ella,_

 

_If only you knew how wrong you were about what I might want from you. Wait just one more week to ride. We are coming home._

 

_-Éomer_

_Dearest Éomer,_

 

_Thank you. I will wait a week. No longer._

 

_Your most grateful,_

_-Ella_

 

_My dearest Ella,_

 

_Do not thank me yet. Not yet. Wait for us._

 

_Yours,_

_-Éomer_

 


	16. Chapter 16

 

Éomer and Amrothos rode up to the gates of Dol Amroth's keep with six good men having left the rest of the party behind when their pace grew slower. Erchirion had protested that Ella would surely wait to see their safe arrival before riding but Amrothos had known better and Éomer had agreed. The two had ridden hard and fast to catch the Princess before she did something worth regretting.

 

Ella would ride simply to prove a point. She had stated her ultimatum and was not likely to back down, especially when she knew they were close and no real harm could come from riding ahead. Indeed they had scarce crossed the perimeter of the hold when Ella's groom ran to them, nervous and upset and almost collapsing.

 

“She rode before dawn. Our men tried to catch up when we discovered her missing, but there was no trace, it rained mid morning and covered her tracks.”

 

Éomer felt a slow anger rising within him. How stupid could she be? She had not taken anyone with her, nor told them the road she would ride. If she was robbed or killed on the road, there would be no finding her. He felt his head start to ache with the tension of his jaw clamping tight. To his surprise, Amrothos was smiling. “She'll be taking the Steward's road. We'll change our mounts and follow.”

 

“You can't be certain.”

 

“I can. She's my sister.”

 

Éomer wanted to argue but thought for a moment of Éowyn and how he had known when she was left behind that she would not brook it and how he had done nothing and she had almost died. He had known his sister's thoughts and worried for them and still let her face death alone. Amrothos was not going to make that mistake and so the king kept his mouth shut.

 

Ella had taken Lightning and a spare mount and she had left all her dresses, save one, but breeches of her size were missing from the laundry. Her bow and several quivers worth of arrows were gone and when Amrothos went to his room, he found his dagger missing along with two cloaks he had outgrown. In the kitchen, there were two loaves of bread, a wheel of cheese, and three pounds of apples missing from the stores. The servants were grey faced and worried but not angry. There was something odd about the way they tip-toed around their young prince and the king. “She's been quiet and grave for weeks, milord. We thought it would only be a matter of time.”

 

A matter of time before what?

 

But their mouths grew quiet and there was no time to ask. With their own supplies on spare mounts, Amrothos and Éomer left the city as quickly as they had arrived and made for the Steward's road.

 

The King's road was the most travelled path to Minas Tirith and Ithilien. It was paved and wide and open with few places to hide or for mischief to be sprung. If Ella had gone along that path, it might have been possible to find her simply from riding, though even in the colder months,the road could get crowded and slow and with summer slowly approaching again it was even more likely to turn their desired pace into a crawl.

 

The Steward's road, in contrast, was well worn but not paved and surrounded on each side by forest. The road was monitored by soldiers which kept incidents to a smaller number, but it wasn't uncommon to find oneself robbed by highwaymen. It was the more dangerous route to take and the more covert. Unless they found themselves able to catch up to Ella, it would be hard to find her. At least that was Éomer's concern, but Amrothos did not share it. “She is my sister,” he repeated, “I will find her.” and after a while Éomer started to realize that Amrothos might not truly believe it, but that he had to say it because if they did _not_ find her, on the road or in Ithilien, then she was lost and Amrothos too would be lost without her. His brothers had their wives and children and Amrothos had only Ella to worry for, and if he could not keep even _her_ safe, then he had no right to call himself a man at all.

 

For his part, Éomer fiercely regretted every delay that had brought them home so late and though he felt in another life he might have been furious with Ella, he could not bring himself to summon his rage now. He thought of her letters. She had told him that she was not happy, she had been so desperate and he had bid her wait. Éomer had done his duty, he had done what he was told and even when his head grew hottest, he had not betrayed his family or his people. He found himself shocked that Ella had ridden. She was regent and she had gone and he knew he would not have done the same. He knew that in another life she would not have done it. Something in her was burning but it was not bright or lovely. It was turning her to ash.

 

The men did not speak much, it was four days ride to Ithilien and the weather stayed warm and good for travel for most of it. It was unspoken between them that if Ella was not at Ithilien when they arrived, if they did not find her on the road, that they might never find her. Éomer thought for a moment that might be okay. She might never know how they had failed her. He banished those thoughts without letting them form completely. It was not true and he did not mean it.

 

As if to punish him, it began to rain, and they managed to push on for another league or so but it soon became apparent they would have to stop. The unpaved road was turning to thick mud and mire and the horses would get injured if they continued on. They walked carefully for another while, then spotted a natural shelter of interlacing branches. 'Elf made.” Amrothos said, for it seemed too perfect to come wholly from nature.

 

“We'll be sharing it with ten other families.” Éomer replied, “I hope you're not too proud to share a blanket.”

 

“My family knows nothing of pride.” Amrothos retorted, and for the first time in days the two of them grinned.

 

The canopy was not so dry as it looked, and Amrothos despaired the 'elves' who had made their sanctuary. It was only something to talk about. Their campaign had been fought through the winter and this was irritating but not unendurable. Immediately Éomer's eyes were drawn to one of the trees and he pointed it out to Amrothos for carved into it was a white swan. He frowned. They were no longer in Balfalas lands so there was no reason to mark these woods. Ella had been here, and if she had not, then it did not really matter. They clung to the belief regardless, picturing the princess harbouring in the same woods and thinking of her brother following her. They imagined that the inept fire from the night before had been hers. They pictured her and her horses and imagined that she had stayed up too late and had carved deep into the tree so they might find her. It helped to picture her where they now were and only a few steps ahead.

 

Three days later, when they arrived at Ithilien and did not find Ella there, it became harder to put much faith in a tree carving. Faramir and a very pregnant Éowyn soon grew as worried as Éomer and Amrothos, there were no letters for Ella, nor signals or signs. There was nothing to ease their fears.

 

Éowyn was under strict instructions not to leave her bed but she stormed the castle instead, calling for riders and sentries and guards to begin a search for her errant friend. Faramir, wrote to local inns and called in favours, he poured over maps and looked for other paths his cousin might have ridden. He looked for places she might have been taken in if injury had come to her. His maps soon were filled with small x's and he prepared to ride the next morning. Éomer felt his anger start to rise again. Éowyn was likely to begin her labour now, and it was Ella who had wanted so badly to be here and who was not. _You should have waited a few hours, Ella. That's all it would have taken. What's a few hours? I've never known you to shirk your duties._

 

His sister was distressed and she should not be, and they all were on edge. So much so that when Amrothos and Éomer rode to check every inn along the Steward's road and the King's Road, the two decided to part ways for the search under the mutual understanding that they would come to blows if they did not. No one could say just what it was that fanned their frustrations, certainly no one was being unkind or unreasonable but after weeks of searching it was becoming clear that one of their own was gone, that Ella might be assumed dead and that it had not been a war, or battle, or illness, that there was no good reason for her simply not to be here with them. It seemed utterly incomprehensible.

 

The worst was that they could not blame Ella, as she was the one missing, but everyone knew that it had been her fault for riding alone when a few hours would have changed the course. It was Ella's fault entirely that they all were growing grey with worry. Amrothos poured over the servant's words like a madman, _“It was only a matter of time”_ and he re-read his sister's letters until the paper grew soft and the ink ran, his smile was gone and he looked for some sign that might explain her flight. He thought of his sister who smiled even when he knew she was not in a smiling mood. Even when she was desperately lonely. He pictured his sister who did everything she could to make her family proud, and he pictured the weight of them on her narrow back. It made him angry because it hurt much more to be sad and so he rode like a foul wind was at his back. Éomer hid his own letters from Amrothos for he did not think it would settle his friend's mind. ' _I am sick of not being happy_.' _._ Both men obsessed over what they should have done instead for it was becoming clear than Ella did not wish to be found, if she still lived, though Éowyn called them fools for thinking that Ella had simply run away.

 

Amrothos went along the King's road, in case they had been wrong and she had aimed to take a better, if slower route. Éomer retraced their steps along the Steward's road. _We are not all happy all the time_ , _Ella_. Those were the words he should have written back to her, _I am not happy all the time. I am rarely truly happy, and I am telling you only so you will understand. There is strength in standing strong. There is strength and hope in enduring. You are not allowed to leave your post because you had a moment of sadness_.

 

He pictured her then, her hands on her hips and her gaze challenging. She would tilt her head like a little bird. He pictured her as she had been on the battle field but clean and without tears. Simply dressed, she stood, with her hair just barely bound and her shoulders strong and proud.

 

_I am not a soldier, Éomer, King of the Riddermark. I stayed my post. I ruled as I was told to. I carried my family's name with pride and wore it like a shield. I held Dol Amrothos, I held Minas Tirith. I watched from the walls for days upon days, for battle after battle. I carried hope within me like a flame and gave it to all I met when their own spark burned low. Have I not done my duty? I waited as I was told to. I am not a soldier. I am tired and I am tired of holding a weight this heavy. I want to be happy, and you should want to be happy too. Why are we fighting? Why have we lost so much, if not for the hope of happiness?_

 

Éomer shook his head and cleared his vision of Ella, for she was turning too real and he thought for a moment that she would turn to flesh and blood in front of him if only he willed it fiercely enough. He closed his eyes and tried to blink her away but he could see her so clearly. She had turned her back on him and was walking away, her hair turned messy and her cloak dragging in the mud. She led a horse who was limping and he thought that he would know her anywhere but he did not know how his vision had turned to reality. She kept walking and he could not bear to see her go. “Ella!” he called after her and she turned briefly, as if she could hear something familiar in the wind but could not clock it's meaning. The crowd of people around her swelled and hid her from view and his breath choked him. If it was her, he could not let her disappear again. He pushed forward towards her and the crowd grumbled as they were forced to divert their paths. He caught sight of her horse, but it was not Lightening and so he doubted himself. He slowed... Ella would not leave her beloved horse behind, where was her mare? Then he saw the dirty curve of her cheek and surged forward, certain of himself again.

 

The sun was going down, and the Steward's road grew more crowded as families tried to return home before dark but it was the narrow path and there was forest on each side that obstructed his view. There was no mark on her cloak to differentiate it from any other cloak. There were no flowers or ribbons in her hair to draw his eyes, if this woman was Ella then he would have to take great care not to lose her. It was not easy. When he could not see her, his breath was caught in his lungs, and he felt each time that he had lost his chance. Each time he drew breath back into his body.

 

Eventually he thought he saw her slip into the forest, and after a quick scan to see if he could see her elsewhere, he followed. After all, the only way a chase ended was with capture or evasion and he could not allow the latter. He came off Firefoot and found the same corps of trees that enveloped her.

 

He felt the sharp edge of a knife at his throat and heard a woman's voice command him to 'Stop' and without thinking he threw the person to the ground. Ella blinked up at him, disgruntled.

 

“Are you stupid, Ella? You've no more weight to you than a blanket soaking wet. Where are your arrows? I could have hurt you!”

 

“I didn't realize it was _you_ that was following me, or I probably wouldn't have tried to get a knife to your throat. What are you doing?”

 

“Trying to find you!”

 

Her expression broke and changed and broke again. For all the world she looked like a storm about to begin on the horizon. Slowly, she shook her head. “I didn't think anyone would.”

 

“You didn't think anyone would...?”

 

“Try to find me.” Her own confusion stopped his ire, and he offered her his hand to stand. She looked a mess, thinner than he remembered and made of hard edges. Under his fingers he could feel no softness. Her eyes were dark and darkly circled. Behind her stood her spare mount, and on his back was a bag of oats and a small sack. Ella had not planned well for a journey of four days, and evidently had not expected it to extend to the eight or nine days it had become. It turned him gentle to see her. Not just in this state but her, just her.

 

“We would scour the earth for you.”

 

She shook her head but it took her a moment to respond, “I mean... I suppose I knew you would search for me... Well, not _you_ particularly but my family. I just didn't think the search would continue much longer once I did not make it to Ithilien... once another week passed.”

 

“Were you trying to run away?”

 

“No!” But she turned from him and went to feed her horse, offering the creature a handful of oats. “I suppose once I was out of the castle- I've not left the castle for months, you know- once I was out, I figured I'd be in Ithilien before the week was out. I suppose I imagined you would all catch up to me within hours... But you didn't. And then days passed and I left markings on trees for you. And then... I figured no one was coming, and perhaps I was free-”

 

“Free?”

 

“I _was_ headed for Ithilien, I still am but Granger hurt himself. Got a bit wild in the mud and his leg isn't right.”

 

“ _Free_ , Ella?”

 

“I've never been alone without being surrounded by people. I've never been alone without being lonely. I've never been alone because I chose to be. It was nice, you know... It was nice to make a choice for myself. A proper one. It felt good”

 

“We were sick for worry, El.”

 

“Good.” She snapped to look at him and let the grains fall from her hand and to the ground. She looked hard and tired, “Now you know what it feels like.” She wiped her hands on her breeches and knelt in the mud, examining a wrap on Granger's leg and removing it, she pulled a flask from her hip and took a gulp before using the remaining water to clean the leg. Her tone was biting “Being helpless isn't as noble as you thought it was, is it?”

 

Éomer felt himself grow cold, he tried to reply but could only find her name quiet on his tongue, “Ella...”

 

She took a deep breath and let it wipe the bitterness from her tongue. With the back of her hand, she tried to push the hair from her eyes. “I don't mean that. I'm sorry, I'm tired.”

 

“You do mean it.”

 

“I shouldn't.” She stayed far from him for a bit longer and he took the time to find some food. She looked like she sorely needed it. He found some rolls and dried berries. Nothing to upset her stomach if she had gone long enough without. She looked to her dirty hands when he tried to hand the food to her, and he saw a sort of hopelessness cross her face. She froze. Slowly he put the food down and opened his own flask to poured water on her hands, then he used his shirt to wipe them clean. He could feel her eyes on him as he did it. They were both silent, hand in hand. She was a mess. He bent down and pressed a gentle kiss to her lips, then her forehead.

 

“Do not run anymore.”

 

They did not move. Her eyes were closed and her expression soft and lost and content all at once. Slowly, she squeezed her eyes shut tighter and wrinkled her nose with it too. She shook him off her like a spell. “We should make a fire.” As she turned from him, he saw her hands go to her lips for a moment and she looked happy, simply happy.

 

“You might have ridden Lightning to Ithilien and left Granger at an inn. You'd've saved yourself a great deal of suffering you know.”

 

“I was going to leave Granger, but the innkeep said I should slaughter the poor beast, injured as he was. I didn't trust him to let Granger heal, and I couldn't feed both horses for the time it would take to walk, I had only coin for the keep of one of them, and Granger could not have managed Lightning's pace. It broke my heart to leave her behind.” Ella stopped and let the weight of her journey settle on her. “It was always my intention to get to Ithilien. I swear it.” She saw that Éomer was managing the fire and she sat out of his way, gathering the food he had left and slowly nibbling on the corner of a sweet roll. “I must be close now.”

 

“You are. Half a day's hard ride. Perhaps a day or two left of walking.”

 

“When we reach Ithilien, do you think we might send for Lighting?”

 

“Of course.” He came to sit by her and took her hand but otherwise they did not touch. They stared at the fire he had made and he allowed, only to himself that this was not so bad. They were choosing not to ride for the night. They were choosing to be alone for just a few hours longer.

 

“Éomer...” Slowly, like honey sliding down a honeycomb and down one's arm, Ella let her head sink to Éomer's shoulder. She sounded half asleep already.

 

“Yes?”

 

“I'm betrothed, you know, you should not kiss me. Even in the woods.”

 

“Ella...”

 

He felt that same guilt rise up from the bottom of his stomach and coil around his throat, tightening and tightening until he thought he might choke.

 

“Prince-Prince Darian... he's dead. He did not make it- he was very brave.”

 

But he looked at her face and knew she could not care less about the bravery of a dead man.

 

 

 


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for sticking with me this far, I hope you're still enjoying! I know I'm still having a hell of a journey writing this thing. As always comments and reviews are very appreciated, but even just your reading along means a lot to me. Please note: tw: childbirth in this chapter. Nothing particularly gory, or too detailed but please keep yourselves safe.

The ride back to Ithilien was marked mostly by Ella speaking little, and Éomer being unable to draw any extra words from her. He did not to know to make her feel better, nor did he know how fond she had been of her betrothed. Had he been bold enough to ask her, he might have recognized the guilt on her face when she spoke of him, for she had liked Prince Darian and found him to be inoffensive in any way but she had not loved him, nor given him her heart and now he was gone and she thought perhaps her distance had been to blame. Perhaps, had she been better at writing to him, if she had spoken more kindly, or written more he might have fought harder to live.

 

For his part, Éomer felt he should have better protected the man, indeed he was Ella's betrothed and perhaps he had not guarded him closely enough. Perhaps he resented the man his ability to marry the girl, which he himself did not have. Perhaps he should have dived to block the spear, or arrow, or sword that had slain the Prince... but there was only so much one man could do, and the Prince had known the cost of battle.

 

In truth, as he relayed to Ella, it was not a blade that had felled Prince Darian, but landing on his head after the blow knocked him from his horse, “He felt no pain, princess.” She had nodded, she was sitting in front of him on the saddle so he could not see her expression bu he doubted it comforted her much.

 

Granger trailed behind and kept their pace slow, and the princess slept in his arms a great deal as he rode. She carried exhaustion on her like a dark perfume, but Éomer didn't mind. It was comforting to hold her, and she was a still sleeper, it was easier than simply not speaking for days. Their second night, they considered stopping at an inn but decided instead to find a spot in the woods. Ella didn't say as much, but they both knew that upon their arrival at the Castle the next day there would be a great deal of fuss and talking and the princess did not look like she could manage it. She did not cry, indeed she seemed to be in a state of numbness, but that discomfited him more than sobs ever would.

 

After settling for the night they both were quiet but awake, staring up at the sky, where stars could be seen in between the branches of their tree cover. Éomer felt himself starting to drift when he heard Ella quietly murmur: “I suppose I must seem very silly to you.”

 

“Why would you think that?” He turned in his bedroll to look for her, but could only see her hands laid over her belly as she stared up at the sky.

 

“You've lost so very much, and I've escaped almost everything unscathed. Now I mourn for a man who would have been my husband, but who existed to me as such for only a little while.”

 

“Should I think you silly for having a tender heart?”

 

“I wouldn't blame you. I wish I were strong.” She shifted to look at him, and he saw then that she was close to tears. “I wish things did not hurt so very much. I would be better for it.”

 

“I don't think so, princess.”

 

“Tell me, King Éomer, the brave, the just, and the strong. What use would a King have for-”

 

“ _Stop_ Ella.”

 

“What use- what _practical_ use is there for a tender heart? There's no position in government or otherwise that calls for one, and therefore, if we are being logical, it is a useless trait.”

 

“Really, Ella?”

 

“Indulge me.”

 

“You feel things-”

 

“We all feel things, Éomer.”

 

“Stop interrupting me. You asked, let me answer.”

 

“Go on then.”

 

“It's your head _,_ Ella. Not everyone works the way you do. It's like your heart and your head are one, you hold the world... the whole world inside of you, you leave it room to grow. That's something.”

 

“It's something, yes. Useful: No.”

 

“You gave me hope, El.”

 

“In a bottle, or did I package it up tidy for you?”

 

“If you're just asking me to waste my breath-”

 

“I'm not-”

 

“Then stop interrupting.”

 

“I won't anymore, I swear.”

 

He waited a moment to speak and true to her word, she didn't try to interrupt him again. She listened quietly.

 

“The Battle of Pelennor Fields... I thought we were ended. We had won and yet it felt like the world was over. For me, it felt done.”

 

“But you did not crumble. _You_ did not make a run for it.” Her voice sounded loud in the quiet forest, and he saw that she did not look tired anymore, but was sitting up and was looking at him with dark eyes. He pulled himself to sitting as well, and sighed, running his hands down his face. _She_ has slept all day while he rode, but he had not. If they had to have this conversation, he would have preferred it in the morning.

 

“Is that what you were doing? Running away?”

 

“No. I was running _to_. I was trying to get to Éowyn and her baby. I needed a little bit of hope more than I'd ever needed anything.”

 

“Then it is not so different then, is it? You gave me hope when I needed it, but no one did that for-.”

 

“You would have been there eventually.”

 

“You seem very reasonable now, but reason left you then.”

 

She stopped again. There was something lovely about watching her stop and think. So many of the conversations he had of late involved people speaking at each other and very little listening. And he knew it did not fix what she had done, but she knew it too, and she did not seem happy about the pain she had caused, which seemed worth something at the least.

 

“I'll make sure to note it forever then. It's worth making sure, to avoid the same mistakes.”

 

“Forever?”

 

“It does not seem so long a time. I think I could manage it.” Her smile was tentative, but he laughed anyway. He had missed the Ella who joked freely and openly. This Ella had added weight to her every word and Éomer thought, when had the princess become so weighed down?

 

“If you must know your _use,_ Ella, let me tell you. If I did not care for you, if I knew you only by reputation, I would be frightened of all the numbers and names you know and hold, of the knowledge you command. That is your _use_ , but it is not your worth. It is not your value.”

 

She sat silently, the flames dappled her cheeks with shadows and light and her expression was almost impossible to read. After a few moments, she tilted her head slightly and said nothing, Éomer found himself frustrated with her silence, if only because he was tired while she obviously was not. After a fair amount of time, Ella's gaze shifted to their fading fire and he turned away from her, and began to lie down.

 

“Thank you...” Her voice was low and he wasn't sure whether he was supposed to respond, but she had taken her sweet time to speak while he had waited, so he pretended he did not hear. “I needed your words, my King.”

 

When he awoke the next morning, he saw that Ella had packed up their things neatly and had breakfast waiting for him. It did not look like she had slept very much, if at all, but her hair was pulled back and tidy and still damp from whatever river she had found, and her face was scrubbed clean. She had changed from her riding clothes into another pair that looked, if not _good_ , then at least better. She did not seem to realize that he was up, and he could hear that she was humming under her breath. He took it for a good sign, until he realized that is was a mourning song. Still, it was sweet and quiet and a moment he wanted to remember, so he just watched her. After a few moments more, he rose and stretched out his sore body.

 

“Sleep well?”

 

He shook his head and she smiled. Whatever she had made for breakfast didn't look too bad, and when she brought him a bowl it smelled cinnamon-y and good, with apples strewn inside. He accepted the bowl and sat back down to eat it. To his surprise, she sat beside him and seemed calm, she lay her head on his shoulder.

 

“No, I didn't think so. If we ever choose a place with _more_ rocks to sleep upon, we might be better off just sleeping on the horses.”

 

“Did you sleep at all?” He asked gently.

 

“No. Not really.”

 

“We'll be at Ithilien in two hours time if we hurry, by noon if we do not.” She understood that he was giving her a choice, but there wasn't one, really. She would have to face everyone. Including the possibility of a small baby, who would first know her as the sort who shirked responsibility. She hoped that babies were as short on memory as they were said to be. She couldn't manage the list of those who needed an apology getting too much longer.

 

“I think we should hurry. I've kept enough people worried.”

 

They still took a small moment there together. Éomer finished eating and Ella sat by him. He thought to himself, and the thought no longer seemed so very shocking, that this was what it would be like to be married to Ella. They would have breakfast and she would try to talk though the morning fog but she would not be good at it. She would sit by him, her head on his shoulder, or her hand on his while she waited for him to finish. He thought, perhaps, if this was the worst that Ella had to offer him, it could not be so very bad to be married to her. Yes, she was impulsive, and sometimes darkly sad. He saw now that she carried the weight of her role and responsibilities heavily and that she was not nearly so flighty as once he had thought. Indeed, she was serious and strong when it was needed, but at a price. She did not understand balance. Her husband would have to know her moods and help her manage them. Her husband would have to love her. He would have to keep her weighted down when she wished to fly too high, and hold her up in his arms, when she began to sink. It was something worth knowing, if you were going to marry a girl like Ella. Though, he saw Éowyn and Faramir, and King Aragorn and Queen Arwen, and even Prince Imrahil who still loved so dearly his wife, and 'not so very bad' still did not seem like the basis for a marriage.

 

Who _had_ Ella's mother been? The longer he knew the girl, the less like her father she seemed, though she tried endlessly to mirror him. By all accounts, it was her mother who Ella took after. She was rarely spoken of, and Éomer knew that her loss still pained Prince Imrahil deeply. Would he find the roots of who the princess was inside who her mother had been? He reached for Ella's hand as she stood to leave and looked into her face, trying to see something there that might answer his questions.

 

Ella, true to regular form, laughed and shook off his hand, “Don't be silly. I've packed up the horses. You should clean, because I cooked. Maybe wash your face? I think we can be ready to go in a few minutes.”

 

Like most of the things she said, it happened with a few extra minutes in either direction. Granger still lagged behind them, but was doing a passable job of keeping up, and before too long, they could see Ithilien in the distance. The crowds got thicker the closer they got to the castle, but it wasn't always awful being a Princess and a King and making their way inside the gates took time, but they had an escort now which made things much, much quicker.

 

Faramir barely spoke to his cousin once they were inside, other than to say “The labour pains started early yesterday.” Éomer could not tell if Faramir was simply livid at Ella, or too worried to bother with general pleasantries, but from Ella's generally chastened demeanour, he imagined that it was a good combination of both.

 

Once they all were close enough to hear Éowyn's moans, however, it didn't seem to matter who felt what about anything anyone had done, because if there was a single person all three cared about at that moment, it was Éowyn. The rest would have to wait. Ella didn't change her clothes, and she dropped her bag outside the door with a plume of dust. Without another word to either of them, she was inside and by Éowyn's side.

 

Ella had once thought that Éowyn would be more beautiful that anyone, even if wrapped in a horse blanket with nothing else on, but she had perhaps not accounted for more than twenty hours of labour. Éowyn had fought a Nazgul and won, but her first child was being cruel to her, and it did not help that the woman she had wanted by her side had taken her own journey at the worst possible moment. “You're late.” She all but growled at Ella, taking her hand in a squeeze which almost made the princess cry out.

 

“I took the scenic route. The Steward's road is so lovely this time of year. Mud. People. Mud. Trees. Mud-”

 

“I'll murder you if you make me laugh, Ella, I swear to Béma, I would find my sword and swing at your head. How could you?”

 

“I don't think this is the time to listen to the whole story, Éowyn, seeing as your child would like to brought into the world whether you'd like it to, or not, but I'd like to assure you that once you hear it all, it's a much less... frustrating account of myself... and the choices I make... than it currently seems.”

 

Éowyn tightened her grip on Ella with a low moan that made the princess worry for her. The midwives who attended the Lady exchanged looks that Ella did not like. “Tell me the story, Ella.” Éowyn all but whispered, and Ella saw that her forehead was covered in sweat, but the lady was starting to shut her eyes.

 

“Damn you, Éowyn. Wake up.” Ella feel her stomach contract and she pulled her grip from Éowyn's hand as it loosened on her own. “The story starts like this:-” Ella came to stand where the midwives stood, and saw what it was that made them so nervous. The baby was the wrong way round. “Wipe that look off your face. Now. We've work to do. Bring me hot water and white spirits.” For what felt like the millionth time, Ella thanked Ioreth for her tutelage.

 

Éowyn was only half awake and Ella tried to tell her the story, but it was still better than she had hoped, since 'not awake' would have been disastrous and Ella doubted that Éowyn really wanted to hear the minutiae of eating berries and chewing on bark for three days while trying to get her way to Ithilien.

 

Because labour had begun, Ella could not try to turn the baby into the correct position. Sometimes, one could tell before the birth and Ioreth had been good at massaging the belly until the child took the hint and turned their way around. It was too late to do that for Éowyn, but perhaps if they could help ease the child through... While she waited, Ella began to massage around the child. She could feel the little one trying to move and she silently cursed the stubborn house of Éol for always having to go their own way. Éowyn was reaching down and trying to push Ella's hands away, but the princess wouldn't let her. “You're going to have to let me be the strong one, this once, My Lady. Save your energy for when I make you push.” It worried her more and more that Éowyn was starting to fade, but she hoped the woman was just tired and would wake when she was required to do her bit. “Damn you, Éowyn. Stay awake.”

 

“Don't damn me,” Éowyn murmured, “I'm the one pushing the baby out. Praise me. I am a miracle.”

 

At that point, Éowyn's eyes rolled to the back of her head, and everything started to move both very quickly and very slowly. For the first time since she had ridden from Dol Amroth, Ella was overwhelmed with the idea that she might lose someone, and she froze. Éowyn was to her like a sister, almost like a mother, and she could not imagine a world where she lived and Éowyn did not. This was the woman who had pulled her from her grief, also too, literally pulled her from battle and saved her life. This was the woman who Ella considered above all others and who Ella loved above anyone but her own family, and perhaps more. And damn her, she was going to live.

 

The baby, perhaps noting that it had far outstayed it's welcome, made a push for freedom, and Ella forced one of the midwives to hold smelling salts to Éowyn's nose until the woman woke up again, gasping and pushing harder than she had since Ella had gotten there. It was not pleasant, Ella noted, giving life to another. She noted it in the way that one notices that the cold hurts when it is cold enough, or that heat feels like a knife when it is hot enough. She noted it in the detached way one notes things when they are entirely outside of one's control. She had not ever seen Ioreth pull a baby out of the womb so much as catch them, but she had her hands firmly on the wailing child as it came out, choking on its own anger and shock, and she wiped at the little boy like one in a dream, and cleaned the little thing, before wrapping it up snugly and helping Éowyn hold it as it calmed against it's mother.

 

Faramir and Éomer came soon after, faces pleased and open, like a child had magically fallen from the sky and landed in Éowyn's trembling arms. Ella though, in that same dreamlike state that they should have been required to be there the whole time in the future because it had been awful and it wasn't nice to leave her to bear the burden of it alone. If she had been just a bit clearer, she would have liked them to be there in case Éowyn had died... it had not been fair to leave her with that chance and to make her witness it alone. Just like that, Ella began to cry and soon it turned into sobs, and Éomer escorted her from the room and into the hallway because she was disrupting the moment and simply couldn't make herself stop. He didn't understand why she was crying. It didn't seem like the happy crying she did at times, and this was a joyous occasion so he couldn't imagine that she was crying from sadness, but it did not matter because she was crying, and so he pulled her into his arms, and they both sat on the floor, and he held her until she quieted. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special shout out to eschscholzia for just being such an awesome commentor. I usually don't do things like this because I don't want anyone to feel like they HAVE to comment or like or to put pressure on anyone, but your comments and reviews are always so funny and detailed and I appreciate them so much. 
> 
> ps: I didn't even realize until your last review that Ella's reaction to prince darian's death could be viewed as her not caring, versus her not caring how brave he was because he was dead, and his bravery wouldn't bring him back. Definitely editing to add clarity to the text. Thank you!


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the delay in updating. Give myself a mild concussion and it slowed down the process significantly. I hope you enjoy! Comments and questions are always welcome.

 

Ella spent the night awake, prowling the length of her quarters like a cat in heat. Amrothos had offered to spend the night on the divan, should Ella need to talk or simply want someone around. He had been true to his word for hours, to his credit, and managed several hours of stilted conversation but he had grown ill at ease with her constant pacing and she had taken pity and asked him to leave. He had kissed her forehead before allowing her to be alone with her thoughts.

 

It had been Amrothos that she had feared. Not that he would lash out in anger, but that he would quietly burn with it. Perhaps he did, but she did not know her brother to be false and he had pulled her to him and crushed her half to death. She had heard his breathing turn wet with tears, and she had pretended not to see them, and he had kept them down. _Oh my darling_ , she wanted to say. _I wish you had never known the fear of my dying_ , but she did not say it, because he would understand and he would hate her pity. When children grow up together, they learn the tender parts of each other, but as they grow older they become almost shy of the way another might know them. There was a part of them, Ella thought, that wished to be known by a lover, someone who would see deep inside them, but for anyone else to do so felt wrong, who could you trust to protect the parts of you that were vulnerable? She paused... why _not_ family? She loved her father and her brothers more than she could imagine loving anyone else but she did not want them to see her the imperfect parts of her. She realized she did not mind Éowyn and Éomer seeing those little fragmented bits of her. They understood, or at least she imagined they did... but she had also imagined that Faramir did, and he still was distant from her.

 

Now that she was safe in Ithilien and with her family informed of her whereabouts, Ella found that she had time to examine all the bits of herself she would have rather ignored. There was a part of her that refused to be happy. It refused to be happy when she had run Dol Amroth and which had banged against the bars of her living in Minas Tirith during the war, and the stifling nature of life as things returned to normal. She knew so many people who were content, who understood their lot in life and simply existed in the moment. People who just _were_. She wanted desperately to be one of those people. It was exhausting to look for more around every corner. She was running out of corners and out of energy, and she did not think trying to find more was something her family could handle again.

 

Her pacing brought her to the balcony of her chambers. She liked it out here though the air still held a chill and it was not nearly wide enough to encompass the pacing of the last few hours. She put one leg over the balustrade and when she found it sturdy enough, she brought her other leg over so she sat on the edge, gazing down at the steep drop before her. She had never feared heights, never feared water, never feared the world outside her window nearly as much as she imaged she should. Her life might have been easier had she been a bit more frightened and a bit more amenable to a quiet, gentle future. She drew in a deep breath and savoured the night air turning from crisp to warm in her mouth. Her grip was tight on the banister but she grew braver the longer she sat there. She wondered which would come first: discomfort enough to force her to move, or sleep. She decided that if she felt her eyelids go, she would come down immediately but she did not feel even an inkling of sleep. Her body was tired but her mind was not.

 

“I think little bird is only a pet name, princess, I do not expect that trying to fly will work in your favour.”

 

Ella felt herself start to grin even before she turned to find Éomer outside his rooms, his balcony a good two feet from hers but close enough that if she leaned over the edge and reached out her arm she could touch the stone of his banister. “How smart you are, King Éomer. Here I thought my wings were suspiciously feather-less.”

 

He looked better after having bathed, which Ella noted with a slight blush and a sharp kick of guilt. She supposed she too must look better. Her hair was combed through now and her skin was speckled with freckles only, the filth of the road had come off easier than it had been gained. Her clothes were borrowed and simple and the sleeves and hem were too long. She had been tripping over herself constantly until she had tied the skirt up with a knot. She did not feel embarrassed that he should see her looking so plain, certainly he had seen her looking far, far worse. It was almost nice that she felt no need to pin up her hair nor powder her face, she was certain now that it made no difference to him and there was a slightly bubbliness to that feeling that she could not explain.

 

For her part, she preferred this version of him. His long hair was still wet but pulled back in a knot and his beard was trimmed close. His clothing, too, was simple and he looked like he had slept at some point. His eyes seemed dark as they looked at her, intent on her words and her face and her body. It was a pointedness... an awareness and recognition that she did not often feel. It was as though she was momentarily the centre of his world.

 

“Would you like to fly over here?”

 

“Someone will see me in the halls.” She shrugged lightly and watched him make a half step towards her. It made him nervous to see her up here. He was worried for her. For his sake, she climbed carefully down and was rewarded by his shoulders relaxing just slightly when her feet were back on solid ground. Éomer walked towards her, and she towards him, and she pretended that she felt nothing and draped her arms over the banister and pretended she did not want him to reach his arms over to her.

 

“I could jump the gap.”

 

Ella shook her head but her grin was less careful now, “You shouldn't. You could fall.” She was almost certain she could make the jump, and if she could do it, then certainly Éomer could. Though to call it a jump was misleading. She would have to climb over the balcony and put one leg across to the opposite balcony, then bring her hand to his railing and when she had a good grip, she would bring her other leg over. She told him as much, and he agreed, and before she could offer, he had already reached across to her and though he didn't need her help, she went to assist him. If he had asked she would have said she worried for him, but the truth was she wanted a reason to touch him. The truth was that he felt solid and real and she liked that about him. She did not move her hands once he was over and he put them to his chest and put his hands on top of hers. They stayed like that for more than a moment, more than a second, much longer than they should have.

 

“Are you feeling better?” As if her tears had been an illness and she had simply needed a poultice and some tea to return to health, she rolled her eyes at him and went to take a step away but he kept her hands in his.

 

“I shan't have any children. It is too bloody a sport for me.”

 

“Is it?” Éomer finally released her hands but he brushed the scar across her nose. Propriety should have kept him on his balcony and Ella on hers but it was too late for that so she allowed it. It reminded her of dancing with him on the tower. Dancing with him reminded her of the wedding. The wedding reminded her of how easily he had given her up. She took another step away from him and this time he seemed to understand it as more than coyness. “El-?”

 

“I should be mourning. And I should _not_ be mourning with you. My reputation suffered for you!”

 

“That was not my intention!” His eyes were still laughing, and Ella realized that for Éomer, this was a good week. The war was ended, he had heroically rescued Ella, and his sister was alive and the mother to a healthy baby boy. He was living a good life, and he wanted to celebrate that with her.

 

“It is never your intention to hurt anyone.” She had learned from him, however. She had been more careful with her heart, but she had not stopped caring for him. It seemed that she had forgotten to get all of her heart back, for a part of it was still his. She did not remember giving it to him. She had liked him and wanted him to like her, but she had thought her heart protected and safe. She had not realized that she had given him a seed of it, and like a seed, it had grown and grown until it belonged to him. She wanted to tell him so. She wanted to warn him that little tendrils of her heart were his and she didn't know if there would be a way to remove them, but the words didn't make sense when she tried to open her mouth, so she said: “It makes me like you more” instead.

 

“I've wanted to hurt people, Ella. Just not you.”

 

She shrugged, “Yes. In battle.”

 

“And outside of it. I am not a patient man... and I do not brook disrespect.”

 

She knew of Grima, who had wanted Éowyn and who had almost had her. She knew the man had almost destroyed Éomer's Uncle, the Great King Theoden. That was different, that was revenge, and she could understand that, but she did not think that was all Éomer meant. If she tilted her head just so she could see that the planes of his face could be hard and sharp. In the dark his face was shadowed in a way that could mean danger. Ella herself was tall enough, but Éomer towered over men and women alike. In truth, if she took a step back, she could see how he could be fearsome. If she closed her eyes and tried to think back to meeting him for the first time, still stinking and covered in blood and dirt, she knew she had been shy of him and careful. Or what had seemed to her to be careful. There had been a man's life in a balance, so certainly not as careful as she should have been. Indeed, she was alone with a man who would strike fear into any opponent and she could _see_ why. She was not stupid, he was fearsome and she had never truly found herself on the wrong end of his displeasure, but she was not scared of him. She knew him. She was certain of it.

 

“I am not afraid of you.”

 

He laughed and the hard edges disappeared. She wanted to warn him to be quiet but she didn't really care to lose the warmth of his voice. “I am afraid of _you_ , Princess Lothiriel.”

 

“Yes. You ought to be. I am terrifying. Look, I wear a ring. If I tripped, I might bruise you with it.”

 

He took her hand to look at said ring, it was larger than most ladies wore, and had the Swan seal of Dol Amroth but he did not remember having seen it on her hand before. It fit snugly on her index finger so it must have been a woman's ring but it carried the weight of something official. “It certainly would leave a mark.”

 

“Isn't it something?” She tried hard to look proud, “it grants me the power of The Master of the Treasury. I used it as Regent, but now it is an official position. I shan't ever have to leave home again.” It was hard to tell if she was joking or not, but certainly her tone seemed off. “It'll be me and Amrothos, at home forever.”

 

“You can still marry.”

 

“I can, can't I? Do you think my husband will give me such power?”

 

Éomer found himself frowning now. He knew, as much as he knew anything, that if he married a girl like Ella who understood politics as innately as one understood hunger and thirst, that he would give her equal power to his own. If he were to choose someone to be Queen, that person would have to be smart and capable and _willing_ to take on the burden of ruling. He knew, also, that not all men felt the same. He knew in Gondor that the women did not fight, they ruled behind the scenes, if they held power at all. He knew that once he had thought battle and power to be the providence of men, and his sister had proved him wrong. It seemed a waste to gain a wife who was so very useful and put her to work only darning socks and pushing out a brood.

 

Ella, however, was not the sort of wife one _put to_ work, even if he had the mind for it. She was the sort of wife who arrived at Edoras- or at the hold of her husband, not Edoras specifically, but any hold at all... She would arrive and clean out the cobwebs. She would see where the darkness was kept and carve out windows, by hand if she had to, to brighten them. She was the sort who would strip the sheets from the beds and sew new ones from her own wedding dress if there was nothing else because that was what she had once believed marriage to be, and she would be damned if it was not what she would make it. She was the sort who would search for her husband's favourite recipes and make them, terrible or wonderful, it did not matter, she would make them to familiarize herself with all that her new home was and she would learn to love it.

 

“Ella, do you cook?”

 

She started to laugh, since the question came from the ether and she had never been asked it before, “Are you hiring me for a cook? Is Meduseld living off gruel and unleavened bread? I know how to cut apples and roast fowl. Will that do?”

 

“It would do, though I might hire a cook's maid to help you when we hold feasts.”

 

“That cook's maid would have more experience than me. I should assist her, and she should be the cook.”

 

“If you won't be helpful in the kitchen, perhaps you can serve the food, then.”

 

“I _would_ be helpful in the kitchens! I'm very helpful, I never said I wouldn't help. Besides, I would spill the food all over everyone if you asked me to serve. I'd pour the wine on some pour soul's head.”

 

Whatever frustration Ella had felt towards her ring was gone now. Éomer's hands were covering it from view, and they were still on hers and neither of them seemed inclined to step apart. He was laughing, but not at her. He was laughing with her, like he thought she was the wittiest person he had ever met, which she was sure was untrue, but she like it anyway.

 

“Not wonderful in the kitchen, not able to serve without upsetting foreign ambassadors-”

 

“ _Wonderful_ seems an awfully high standard to set for working as an assistant in the kitchen-”

 

“I'm not done- You don't know how to sing, do you?”

 

“Not well enough to be a bard-”

 

“So that won't do, then.”

 

“Probably not.”

 

“You'll sit by me then.”

 

She wrinkled her nose at him and released one of her hands to shove him softly. “I don't think you need to keep an eye on me.”

 

“No? If you don't need me to protect you, then you'll simply be sitting beside me.” He took her hand back and pulled her closer to him and she let him easily. “So you'll be there as my Queen. What do you think of that?”

 

She wasn't sure whether to hit him again, or if she should start laughing to show that she understood the joke. This was obviously a joke, and he thought it was very funny. “I'll be in the Queen's position, yes, but that does not make me your Queen. I could put feathers in my hair and it would not make me a swan.”

 

His face grew serious, as if he had suddenly realized what he had said, and then realized what she said, and he was piecing it together and coming to a conclusion that was more than a joke. “Then I should ask you to be there as my queen... Unless you would rather be a swan.”

 


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes: I hope you enjoy and I apologize for the delay!

 

It took Ella a moment to register that she had been asked to be Éomer's queen. It took another moment before she began to laugh, because being his queen was outside of the realm of imagination and because the other option was being a Swan and she knew she was already meant to be a swan forever. She knew now that she would not leave Dol Amroth again. It seemed inevitable that her life would end there. She did not think she could be a good wife to a prince who would require nothing of her but gentleness and a couple children. She would die of boredom before she could bear a child.

 

“You can't.” She told him, still laughing, “That's not up to us.”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“ You can't just make me your Queen. You can ask me to marry you, sure. But I can't _just_ be your queen. It's not how things work. Your council would probably have to approve me. And you'd have to want to marry me, you can't just appoint me to the position.”

 

“I know that!” Éomer was still laughing and she wanted nothing more than to make him turn serious since she felt at once lost and teased. Was he asking her to marry him? It sounded like it, but then again, it did not. It sounded like he was joking, perhaps about appointing treasurers versus Queens and putting her to work in Meduseld but she could not follow where the joking ended.

 

“You're making fun of me!”

 

“I'm not, I just thought you might want something to do while you visited your brother in my halls.”

 

“You mean, while my brother and I visit you in your hall?”

 

And all at once his face turned serious and Ella's frown grew deeper and she understood. He was going to take her brother from her and he hadn't had the decency to tell her. She wasn't surprised, exactly... Amrothos was a good man, a good soldier and loyal beyond what most would consider reason. She didn't blame Éomer for asking him to return to Rohan in some position which would likely be more elevated than any other a third son could have. She didn't even blame Amrothos for agreeing. Her brother was as eager as she was to escape the boredom of a life that seemed like it would be unchanged for the rest of their years. She couldn't blaming him for leaving her, though she did find herself bothered that it had been so easy for him to agree. Or she imagined it had been easy, since neither man had found it important enough to let her know earlier.

 

“You're taking him...”

 

“I'm not _taking_ him. I'm making him a Marshal.”

 

“But you didn't think about me at all!” The moment she said it, she wanted to take it back. Not the thought itself, but the way she had said it. It sounded childish and self absorbed, and if she had to be both those things in this moment then she at least wanted to pretend she was above that. “I mean-”

 

“It's not my responsibility to think about you, Ella. It's my role to take the people I trust and give them the power to do good things with that trust. Your brother has saved my life and I his, and I trust him. He's doing _nothing_ , squandering his intellect and mourning for a wife he will never hold. He'll be lifeless long before he dies.”

 

“He has me. I'm not nothing. I'm his sister and we were going to manage it all together. Now you've left me alone to deal with everything.”

 

“Everything? What is _everything,_ Ella? Your father has ruled without you for years, he doesn't need you to carry a great weight on your shoulders. Your brother, when he inherits, will not need you to work yourself to the bone for him, he'll have his own family and his own advisers. You're trying to make everyone need you because you're terrified of ending up forgotten and useless and it just makes you _miserable_.”

 

“So I'm useless then?”

 

Éomer wanted to laugh, and then shake her, and then kiss her and then yell. Leave it to Ella to turn everything into a dramatic argument and leave it to him to let her bait him into it. She wanted him to release Amrothos from his service and she thought she might be able to guilt him into it, but it was not for Amrothos that they were fighting. She was fighting for the right to decide and he was fighting for the truth of it all, which was that Amrothos was in his service and Ella could either accept it, or whine but it would not change the matter at all. He could only imagine that she had not expected to lose her brother so soon and that she had not expected Éomer to take him when he knew how close the two were.

 

“I didn't say that.”

 

“But you think I'm not needed.”

 

“I... did not mean that.”

 

“What did you mean?”

 

“I mean that... I need you. You are... important. You are someone who could be useful at any moment but-”

 

“but life will go on regardless of the choices I make. I'm... not vital to anyone or anywhere.”

 

“You're vital to me.”

 

She froze. Her frustration did not dissipate but waited and hovered in the air between them, caught between the words he had spoke and the ones that she had not managed yet. Éomer took the opportunity to keep her from speaking and he felt like he was running down a hill. He had not thought nearly enough about what he was saying, but he was saying it and he didn't let himself doubt what he had already spoke. “I'd like you to come to Rohan was me. I think you should marry me. I- I'll ask your father for your hand, if you'll give it to me, and then you won't be alone. You'll be with me. I'll be with you.”

 

“That's ridiculous.” She felt her eyes start to tear up and she couldn't understand why, or why her heart was speeding up when he was... when he was asking her for her hand. Why was he doing that? “I'm a terrible choice. I'm- I'm... you don't love me. You'll find someone who you'll wish you had married and you'll resent me for being convenient at the time and-”

 

“Ella, I searched the woods and roads for you for weeks. Not days. Weeks. I should have been with my sister. I should have been at home, with my people. I should have done a thousand things and instead I searched for you because you needed to be with us. You needed to be where I could see you. I needed you to be safe and that means something.”

 

“What does it mean?”

 

“It means that I care about you a great deal, I should think.”

 

“Do you, then? Really?”

 

He looked at her with a face that meant, _tell me you care about me too,_ a face that could not understand why he had grown to adore a woman who was so perceptive in so many ways and so very blind in the moments that mattered. He was waiting for her to come to her senses, which Ella realized quickly but recovered from slowly, her many thoughts at war with the simplicity of the man who had offered her his heart.

 

“I'll marry you, of course.” She said finally.

 

“Please, don't do me any favours.” He was half joking and half not, his face hardening as his pride got the better of him.

 

“Don't do that. Give me a second, I'm not proposed to very often, and certainly this is the first time a suitor has asked for my hand while close enough to hold it. It's not a situation I've any experience

with.”

 

Éomer did not presume to know everything about the woman he was asking to marry him. He had thought that perhaps things might turn simple once he admitted that he loved her, but it was not turning out that way and he thought, perhaps he ought to have waited to tell her that her brother had bound himself to his service, and perhaps he should have waited until a few more days after the birth of his nephew and allowed Ella to settle once more into castle life. He had not expected to ask her to marry him. He had not thought it through, but now that she was was in front of him, it fit in such a way that he was not sure how it had not occurred to him as a cohesive thought before.

 

“Ella.”

 

“Yes?” Her brow was wrinkled and she was looking at the clasp he wore on his right shoulder but not at his eyes. She carried the face she wore when a thing that should have been logical was not logical and she did not understand how the sums had amounted to this total. In short, she was uncertain and open in her uncertainty.

 

“I care very much about you.”

 

“I care very much about you as well, Éomer.”

 

“And if you need to think before accepting marriage to me, then I will wait.”

 

But how long would he wait? Perhaps because he had softened, Ella felt her body tense up. Once already they had chosen not to be anything at all to each other and it had been easy for him to leave her to her own world and he had not even offered to stay longer than necessary to explain. He had not fought to make sense of whatever they had felt and lost and now felt again. She had to admit, it was different now, caring for him. Now, she knew him to be harsh and proud and kind. She knew him to do all he could for those he loved. She knew that he would hurt her at some point, and that he was bound too to be hurt by her and that she liked him more for being vulnerable to her. She did not think she could love him if she could not affect him, and the words did not form to admit it, but she could not imagine another word for the pressure on her heart.

 

“No...”

 

“No?”

 

“No. I don't need to think. I'd be a good wife, you know. I'd manage your accounts and I'd-”

 

“I know you would-”

 

“And I'll be a good queen-”

 

“I know you will-”

 

“And I'll-”

 

“Ella!”

 

“Yes?”

 

“I'd like to try this again.”

 

“Try what again?” And she wondered if all it took to end his proposal was some errant words and if, in fact, he had not changed so very much.

 

“Ella.”

 

“Yes?”

 

“I think you're brilliant. I think you're infuriating, kind, bright and brave and often ridiculous in the most incredible ways. I would like to ask you to be my wife and my queen. I'd like you to be those things not because of what you are capable of, but because of who you are and what you mean to me, and I want that to be clear. Do you accept?”

 

All at once, she stood in front of him with tears in her eyes, defenceless simply because he had stripped away those lovely doubts that had kept her safe and brave. She took in his words with a shuddering breath and then she nodded.

 

“Yes. Yes. Of course I'll marry you.”

 

“Yes?”

 

“Yes.”

 

Suddenly he turned from a warrior into a boy and his hands were around her waist as he lifted her and twirled her around. She had known that one could be happy enough to cry and laugh at once but had never know it so fiercely as this moment within herself. When he set her down, she lifted on to her toes and wrapped her arms around him and her laughter was turned quiet by the kisses he gave her, over and over as if he had not realized she was real until this moment. Suddenly, by virtue of his proposal and her acceptance, it was as if she had turned into flesh and blood in front of him, someone who he could hold and kiss. She did not think she could manage a world, now that their binding made it acceptable, where she could not reach for him and have him be hers.

 

By touch.

 

By word.

 

By deed.

 

 

 


	20. Epilogue: Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This will be the second to last chapter of this particular story. I have the Epilogue Part 2 half finished. I never thought I would finish this one, it went on quite a bit longer than I anticipated but in the best way possible. 
> 
> I would be really interested in the future (maybe after a month or two) of tracking these two through their journey as newlyweds and King and Queen. 
> 
> I'm also playing around with the idea of a Hogwarts AU. Let me know if anyone would be interesting in reading either of those things, and thank you so much for reading along. It really means a lot to me.

Epilogue

 

Elboron was a quiet child and he rested in Ella's arms without too much fussing, he had his mother's big grey eyes which were trained on Ella's face and she found herself captivated by how small and soft and nice to hold a baby could be. She was curled up in Éowyn's bed, the bedsheets in tangles around her legs, but neither of them minded much the mess. Off-hand there has been a mention of moving elsewhere as to allow the servants a chance to clean but it simply hadn't happened.

 

“He likes you.” Éowyn was more curved than Ella remembered her. There were less harsh edges to her, but she was no less quick, her eyes were focused on her child and the godmother. It was a relief to Ella, after the birth had so scared her.

 

“He's barely aware that I am not his mother. If he had his way, he'd still be in the womb.” And as if on cue, Elboron began to drift back to sleep, which was the preferred state of most newborns.

 

Éowyn sighed, half bemused and half annoyed. While it seemed clear to her that Ella was considerably more settled than she had been for a while, there was something she was hiding from her, and they had not had secrets between them for a long time now. Had Éowyn the mind for it, she could have re-read the letters they had exchanged and without the effects of pregnancy perhaps have seen where Ella had gone astray of the path. Such things were behind them, however, and something else presented itself in the way Ella curled around the baby, her undressed hair creating a curtain to shield both him and her from Éowyn's gaze.

 

“I wonder, will you tell me now about your betrothal, or will you wait until it tumbles from you unbidden?”

 

Ella looked up sharply, her expression that of a hound caught having stolen the roast from the kitchen table. She did not look particularly surprised, only caught unaware. She had been trying to work her way up to speaking the words aloud while the whole thing seemed rather like a dream. She had dreaded, as those who do not know how to hold their own happiness do, that if she told anyone that they might laugh and assure her that the whole thing was a nothing more than an imagining.

 

“I suppose you are his sister.”

 

“I am.”

 

“How soon after he left my rooms did he come to wake you?”

 

“I was already awake. You'll understand once you have a child.”

 

Ella looked down at Elboron who still slept peacefully. He had nothing much to define him as Éowyn's son but his eyes, and nothing of Faramir's but the slight whisper of dark hair. She knew that she loved the child. Should it be asked of her, she would do anything for him by virtue of his parenthood. Still, she could not imagine having one of her own. The birthing room had felt so dangerous and Éowyn's grip on life so tenuous, what a strange world it was where a Nazgûl could not fell the White Lady but her own child had almost succeeded. Ella was not as strong as Éowyn.

 

Éowyn sensed Ella's trepidation and came to sit by her. “Are you uncertain?”

 

Ella shook her head but she did not know how to explain to Éowyn how unworthy she felt of the world coming to rights about her when she had been so out of balance for so long. She had not earned Éomer's proposal, she thought. They had not spoken of loving each other. How could Éowyn understand that? What if Éomer could never love her? What if she did not know if she loved him? Could a marriage survive without such feelings? She looked to Éowyn and shrugged her shoulders. “You have known the surety of your love story for the whole of it's existence. Our path has not been so straightforward.”

 

To her surprise Éowyn began to laugh. The sound was soft and quiet at first, and Ella grew irritated with the idea that Éowyn was laughing at her.

 

“Do you think so, little bird?”

 

“I don't think so, I know so. I have seen it.”

 

Éowyn reached for her child and Ella handed the little creature to her. The White Lady came to sit by Ella who moved to give her space. “What you see and what is the truth are not always the same. I loved King Elessar with the whole of my being. I had hoped one day to either die in battle and be free, as you wished to be, or to marry him and be his wife.”

 

Ella narrowed her eyes. It sounded far fetched to her. King Elessar loved his Queen and she indeed loved him enough to give up eternity for him.

 

Éowyn continued, “I was without hope in the Houses of Healing. I thought my world was ended. Faramir offered me his love and I could not accept it. I had no idea how the world should continue...”

 

“But it did.” Ella said.

 

“It did.” Éowyn agreed. “And I learned to love Faramir for all he was. I grew stronger with him beside me and his love to remind my heart what it was meant to do. Do you remember, Ella, how you waited on the Eastern Tower?”

 

Ella felt that same shame colour her cheeks for herself back then. She was used to being ashamed of her failures but she had almost forgotten her past for her most recent transgression. She nodded.

 

“My heart broke for you. I did not know it still could. I did not know it, but it happened. You have found your way into my heart now, Lothiriel, but even then, when I thought there was no room to feel more, there was more to feel.”

 

“And you did not love Elessar any more?”

 

“I did not love anyone but my brother.”

 

“Not even then?”

 

“Not even then. The love you think you see as a lightning strike is nothing of the sort. It is work, and it is small kindnesses. It is quarrelling and mending to make things stronger between you. Perhaps there are loves that appear like magic and do not waver, but I know you and such a love would not tempt you. You much work for all you receive Ella, or you do not believe that you have earned it.”

 

“And so I must feel like I have earned Éomer's love?”

 

“Would you trust his devotion otherwise?”

 

Ella thought. She thought for a good deal longer than perhaps Éowyn had intended her to for the new mother settled into her bed and seemed prepared to drift to sleep.

 

“Éowyn.”

 

“Yes?”

 

“You'll be my sister.”

 

“Is that not reason enough to marry Éomer?”

 

Ella laughed and found herself nodding at the thought. The truth was that though she had accepted Éomer's proposal, she did not yet have her Father's approval. She was steeling herself for that conversation and she imagined it might go well. What had her father to protest? She'd marry a King, one of good character and proven honour. In the back of her mind, she had already settled herself to eloping if her father would not grant his blessing. It had never occurred to her that she would have need to rebel against any of the choices her father made for her, but he was a man who did not falter from his path and Ella had heard only thanks for her safety from him, and no judgement as of yet. She had thought to speak to him in person, but that would require Éomer to deliver her home, and then ride again towards Rohan. It was a matter of great inconvenience.

 

Mother and child drifted to sleep and Ella slipped out of their chambers. She had the whole day without many obligations and did not know what to do in the hours and hours before she would be called to dinner. She thought to look for Amrothos and tell him the news but remembered that he and Éomer had ridden on an errand that morning and would not return until nightfall. She thought to write to her father but could not put her mind to the task and so delayed it.

 

In the end, she settled in the gardens with her books and pages of parchment and a well of ink. She began her letter with an inappropriately ornate: _dear father_ and was momentarily satisfied with her work.

 

Two hours later she was well educated as to the irrigation systems that had failed in Rohan's more arid conditions, but that might be adjusted without much additional labour, as opposed to removing the structured ditches all together and going back to how things used to be done. She had managed to complete exactly two more lines in the letter. The two lines were: _You'll be very happy to hear that I am safe in Ithilien and wiser now than I was before._ _É_ _omer has proposed. Please do not say no simply because I have disappointed you. I will be very happy, I should imagine, and I cannot think of a world in which I should be otherwise._

 

She had not seen Éomer since early in the morning, and she had not bothered to check with him whether the proposal stood, or if he had gotten rather carried away and needed her to gracefully allow him his freedom. She was not sure she needed to. Unlike much that had happened in the past, she felt secure in his request for her hand. She felt secure in his affection and in their friendship. It was a strange contentment that she had not felt in a long time.

She crumpled up the letter and began again, the words coming more easily now.

 

 _Dear Father_ ,

 

_King_ _É_ _omer asked me for my hand and I agreed. It is a good match, and I ask your blessing. I ask your blessing, but not your permission. I am fond of King_ _É_ _omer, but I did not accept for fondness alone. I did not accept because he is agreeable, powerful and a better option than I had hoped for. I would like to marry him because I think I could be happy in such a partnership._

 

_I am not proud of my actions, I am not particularly pleased with the results. I know I have disappointed you and proven myself still young and reckless in your eyes. I know this, and still I know I have your love, as you have mine. This is a thing I find as certain and as constant as your care for me. In all that I am, I know I carry you, I know I carry my brothers and our family, and mother's memory. If not for all that, I do not think I should have become what I am, which I hope is mostly someone in whom you hold some pride._

 

 _I will, having learned from my mistakes, be a better Queen than I might have been a princess. I will not wonder as to how I can be of use, but I will simply_ be _. I have always been better when responsible then when I am left alone to my devices. I will not be a broodmare for_ _É_ _omer. Not to him and not for him. I think he will be my equal and I will try very hard to be happy. I think now, that happiness is a choice I can make. It will not come like magic upon me, that is not the path I was given, but I do believe it's a path I might find._

 

_Your Loving Daughter,_

_Lothiriel_

 

By the time she was finished writing the sky had begun to go dark. She folded the pages of the letter and placed them inside the book she was reading to keep the paper creases crisp and safe from her fingers.

 

She was surprised as she climbed the stairs of the keep to see Éomer and his men, of which Amrothos was now one, returning leading a silver mare, and talking loudly and laughing. Ella made her way through the hold to meet them at the gate, curious as to the errand that had pulled them away and brought them back in such good humour. Once she got close enough, she recognized Lightning and flew past the men to wrap her arms around her steed's neck. The creature was as pretty as ever and unharmed, she snorted into Ella's hair but otherwise did not seem too displeased with her mistress. For her part, Ella was misty eyed and was holding on to her book only by virtue of it being pressed into Lightning's back. After a few more long moments of her whispering gently to the creature, she turned around to thank her brother and her betrothed who were both looking awfully pleased with themselves. She didn't begrudge them their egos. First she pulled Amrothos into a hug that was fierce and strong. A brother and sister who needed to understand each other again, and were going to work as best they could until it happened. He held on to his little sister like he was afraid she would disappear again and did not, for the first time in what seemed like years, seem to fear breaking her.

 

“I am so grateful for you.” She whispered.

 

“And I, sister.” He responded, and she knew he meant it.

 

Once the two pried themselves apart, Ella approached Éomer. In front of his men, she should have been more shy and less open in her attention but she felt suddenly dismissive of such things. She stood on her toes and he pulled her up into embrace that did not end until he had kissed her for a good few seconds. Once he put her down, she smiled up at him, and kept his hands in hers. If Amrothos was shocked to see his sister openly kissing the king, he did not show it. It did not surprise her that as he had told Éowyn, Éomer had also been quick to tell Amrothos.

 

“Thank you.” She said.

 

“You're welcome.” He replied.

 

“I love you.” She said softly, so he pulled her closer and said into her hair.

 

“Do you think so?”

 

She grinned and said even more softly. “Yes, I do.”

 

“It is a weighty word. Should I return it?”

 

“Only if you mean it.”

 

“I do.”

 

“So you love me?”

 

“I do.”

 

She stood on her toes again, but did not wait for him to kiss her. They would be late to dinner if she waited for him to do everything.

 

“I'd like to take care of Lightning now. I have a sneaking suspicion I owe her a great many sugar lumps.”

 

She could see the slight relief on her brother's face, now that the two had stepped apart. Such things still hurt him, even if the wound was finally healing. It was a quiet thing, but it still caused him some pain. She hoped she might find someone to make him happy. Anyone who could do it would be fine by her.

 

Éomer leaned down to kiss her cheek. “I'll see you at dinner.”

 

She felt a little bubble of excitement as how very natural it sounded. “You will. I imagine I might be a bit late.”

 

And he laughed.

 

“Of course you will, but I will be happy to see you anyway.”

 


	21. The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That brings us to the end of this particular work. 
> 
> Thank you to all of you who read along, gave kudos, or gave comments. I hope in the end it was as you had hoped and hopefully I'll see you all again soon.

 

Rohan was not as Lothiriel had imagined it.

 

In the weeks without her betrothed, in the months she had known her soon-to-be husband only by his handwritten scrawl on his letters and his scent in the linens that wrapped small gifts he sent because they reminded him of her, she found that Rohan had turned in her mind grey and plain and endless. Rohan had turned from a land on a map to a nightmare of running without end. Ella spent long hours in the harbour of Dol Amroth staring at the water and knowing she would yearn for the sea her whole life through. She would miss the wildly differing horizon, the low ocean and high mountains. She would miss the rocky earth which housed only the toughest of plants.

 

Ella did not regret her choice but neither was she as unshakeable as she had been. She felt Dol Amroth's mark on her as surely as if she had been carved from its stones. How would she fare in a land she had never even seen before? In her mind's eye she saw Rohan now as a long desert of some sort of brush and vegetation but mostly of the half formed variety. It was to her a tenuous unknown that woke her up at night in a sweat. She was not sure she could learn to love such a land, and even less sure that such a land could learn to love her. She knew from Éowyn that her silks and ribbons would be found strange, that her skin would be found dark and her hair thought overdone and pretentious. Ella was a good rider but she was not hearty, a passable archer but not a huntress, and she had only ever handled a sword in ceremonies. She had never worn armour and could not imagine having it pressed into her skin. She carried her scars with honour but not with pride. She was not a woman Rohan would accept easily as their Queen. She knew they would see her as Éomer's wife. An outsider.

 

Amrothos began to sense his sister's restlessness and he grew increasingly protective of her and wary of her movements around the castle. Ella allowed him this freedom, it was nice to have someone who understood her feelings towards Éomer and why she would leave behind Gondor which she loved as fiercely as any woman born of it's soil. Amrothos knew, by virtue of the slight way Ella would tilt her cheek to catch sight of the chain she wore and carried Éomer's ring on, that she needed this as an anchor. A reminder. _I love him_. She told herself day after day. She imagined Éowyn making this same choice. She imagined Éowyn facing this same sadness and bearing it well. Ella could make her proud. If they were to be sisters she wanted nothing but to prove herself worthy. _Make me strong_ , she begged the gods. _Make me fearless. Make me lovely, so he will not regret his choice. Turn me from wild to serene. Make me wise. Make me graceful. Make me kind._ What she meant was: make me better than I am so that he might love me forever. She was not sure she could live in another land without Éomer's love to hold her steady. It made her ache to think of all that she was not. She held his ring in her hands and turned its metal warm. _He loves me_. She repeated in her mind. _He loves me. He loves me. He loves me._

 

_He must._

 

Brother and sister rode with a sizable company which included their brothers and their families but not the Prince himself. Her father did not cry as he sent her to her future husband but he did hold her in his arms for so long that Ella almost resolved herself to stay. She was weeping, freeing the salt Dol Amroth from inside of her and leaving it here, where it belonged. Her father had his chin resting on the top of her head and said nothing. She did not speak. She breathed him in. Somehow, if she only could find the space in her lungs, she knew she could make him a part of her. He kissed her cheek and lifted her chin to meet her eyes. She felt his gaze echo into the very fibres of her body. “My Daughter.” He said. Her tears quieted and she nodded her head.

 

“Father.”

 

“You will be happy, my little bird.”

 

The way he said it made her shaking stop. He did not demand it of her, neither was he asking her, it was a thing that was known to him and so he was making it known to her. She felt her spirit harden. There was some elf still in her father and he had said it and so it would be so.

 

“I am honoured to be your daughter.” Ella knelt at his feet and bowed her head. He would bless her and walk her to her mount. She was not ready to part but there was much she was not ready for and she would do it anyway because that is what brave women did.

 

Her father did not bless her as she knelt there at his feet. He lifted her and pulled her once more into his arms. Ella hugged him fiercely, briefly, and all too soon he nodded gruffly and turned from her to the keep. Elphir walked his little sister to her mare and helped her up.

 

“To Rohan then, little sister?”

 

Ella hid her nerves behind a brazen grin. “Unless you can think of a more hospitable destination, Brother. I'm told the Shire is quite lovely.”

 

“No kings in the Shire, Sister.” Erchirion called to her.

 

“No, Brother. I've been told so.”

 

“You wouldn't be queen in the Shire.” Elphir added.

 

“They wouldn't be stupid enough to make me one.” Ella shrugged, “Our poor Eorlingas friends, they have no idea the folly of their king. I pity them.”

 

In a gesture that cemented her courage and all at once broke her heart in two, Elphir mounted and reached his one good hand to her. She squeezed it tightly. “Do not pity them sister. They are receiving the best of women, the best of Gondor. Do not pity them the treasure they will hold.”

 

Ella did not weep for his words, but neither did she pull her hand from his until they began to ride in earnest. It was a good seven day journey to Rohan when the pace was quick but not taxing. There was time to reminisce over the campfires at night and much time for teasing but for sentiment the time was drawing to a close. The landscape turned slowly from mountains and pebbled earth to the rich soil of Ithilien and then to the drier, harder ground of Rohan. It happened so gradually that Ella barely noticed the change, she rode her horse and did not think except of hunger, when it struck, thirst, when her mouth dried, and sleep, when it grew dark. It was strange to dread and desire something so fiercely. She could not imagine what she might feel when she finally arrived at the famed Meduseld

 

Erchirion pointed out the hall when they were still leagues away. Edoras waited for them at the top of the highest hill in the region. As they got closer and Ella's heart crawled higher in her chest she could just see the waving flag of Éomer's house in the distance. She made herself focus on the white horse that reminder her so much of Lightning. She could feel the mare beneath her holding herself taut and ready to run. She could feel the solid heartbeat of the beast and the way she remained steady for her mistress. Lighting could always be counted on.

 

“Our pace is slow, Brother.” She commented to Amrothos when they stopped for the night.

 

“For your sake, sister. We ride closer and you lean further back.” He demonstrated, using his horse's brush as the imagined reins and tilting his body back until Ella feared he might fall. She began to laugh despite herself. “A night to rest before seeing the King will be good for you. You can brush your hair and wash your face.”

 

“I fear all the washing in the world will not give me a Rohirrim's complexion.” Ella gazed at her reflection in the trough that had been set up for the horses. Seeing her caught in the pool's mirror, Amrothos briskly splashed his hands into the water and slapped them on the back of his neck. Through the ripples, Ella could no longer see herself.

 

“And all the brushing would not turn your hair flaxen, but if King Éomer wished for a bride made of corn, he would have proposed to a cornfield. He did not.”

 

Ella grinned at her brother's words. “I will be happy once we are at Meduseld. I am uncertain in the interim. I will know when I am there that my choice has been right.”

 

“And if you are not, I will marry the King myself and you can get a head start on your horse. We are not leading you to slaughter, El- not a single one of us would be happy to sell you off if we thought you'd have it another way.”

 

“I wouldn't.” It was true, she realized. She pictured Éomer with a golden beauty and felt her blood boil. She pictured running and could not imagine it past her brother's disappointed faces. It was a previous her who ran from uncertainty. Not this Ella. No, not this one. “It is greener here than I imagined it would be.”

 

“Isn't it?” Amrothos gazed out into the darkness, made darker by the light of their camp. “It reminds me of our sea at home. Rolling and cresting and going on as far as the eye can see. I'm fond of it already. It seems a good land.”

 

“It _is_ like an ocean, isn't it?” The thought made Ella smile. “I'd like to get Éomer on a boat. I would wager he'd turn as green as these plains.”

 

“I won't take a fool's wager.” Amrothos snorted, “Not even when it's offered by my sister, the future queen of Rohan.”

 

“But think of what I could offer you!” Ella was laughing, delighted. “I could make you steward of this patch of grass right here. Or this one. Or that one. There are so many beautiful patches of grass to choose from.”

 

“Those aren't yours to give away yet, Princess.”

 

Ella noted that Amrothos had gone silent, though his own amusement was clear. She could only imagine who stood behind her but she could not fathom that he had left his hall to ride to her after dark and had managed to sneak up on them. She turned slowly to see her Éomer with his arms crossed and eyes dancing. “I shouldn't dare-” She stammered, not quite sure if she could trust the light in his eyes. She had not seen him in person in months. It feel like years. He looked the same. He looked different. His hair was longer and his beard was shorter and she found herself cross that she had not been there to see his hair grow. It was such a strange thought. She wanted to be there to know every change that happened to the man she loved, and it was not fair that she did not know if he felt the same. It was not fair that her hair was tangled down her back and her face was dusty and her clothes a mess, and that he was clean and ready for her, and it did not matter because she threw herself in his arms anyway and it was all she could do and all that mattered in that moment. “I'm sorry-” she whispered when he put her down, “I did not know you were coming. I would have dressed.”

 

“I did not tell you.” He replied and grinned down at her, “You seem plenty dressed to me.”

 

“I'm filthy,” She protested, “You should have waited.”

 

He wrapped his arms around her and seemed to breath her in as she had done with her father. Their foreheads touched and the dirt from her clothes transferred to his and all at once they matched “I'd marry you here if I could. I'd find a cloth to bind our hands and dirt to mark our foreheads and I'd do the thing and get it done with.”

 

Rohan marriage rites were different than those in Gondor. Ella had looked up what the wedding would entail but the Rohirrim weren't fond of writing things down. Most of the information had come from book written before the dark times and Gondorian folks who had written about the strange customs of the horse-lords. That, or dry government texts on import and export which gave no inkling of the sort of people at either end of the transaction. These texts were each flawed in their way and years outdated. Ella was determined to have new records commissioned or write them herself, either would do.

 

“Don't we need a witness? A speaker?”

 

He was listening to her, but not, eyes drawing down to the chain she wore his ring on.

 

“You're not wearing it?”

 

“I thought I might lose it. It was a long ride and my hands are rough and your ring is too large.” She showed him her palms. They were hard and calloused and she was proud of them. The first time they had met she had been soft and young and her hands had not been good for much. She missed that softness, in its way, but she did not miss it enough to want to return.

 

Éomer nodded at her words and reached around her neck to undo the clasp of her chain and slide the ring out. He then took the jewel and put it into his pocket. Lothiriel watched him curiously. He didn't seem upset by the explanation but having gifts taken away was not a common occurrence for her. Perhaps it was traditional to return the method of proposal before one's wedding. Ella shifted slightly to catch her brother's eye. He looked as uncertain as she was and eyed the exchange between King and Princess curiously but kept an appropriate distance. Éomer touched Ella's elbow and gave her a bemused look as he offered her two rings from his pocket. One was larger and one was smaller and they were plain but well made and the metal was marked. Ella picked up the bigger ring and squinted at it in the light of the fire. She could just barely make out _Nin Emel_ picked out on the inside of the ring. She placed it back into the King's palm and picked up the smaller ring and saw _Nin Galad_ engraved inside. She smiled up at him. “It looks like it'll fit.” My heart and my light. She did not know know him to be flowery with his words and so they meant more.

 

His grin was wide and she marvelled again at being the one who made this man smile. It was a thought she had had before and one that she imagined she would have the rest of their days together. He felt like an anchor inside of her, and she like a lightness inside of him. She covered his hand with her own and he said softly, “Then you are mine.”

 

“I am yours.” She agreed. “And you are mine.”

 

“And I am yours.”

 

She understood then that they were bound and he put the ring on her finger and she did the same. Éomer turned to Amrothos and asked, “You have heard our words?” and when Amrothos nodded, said “Then you will be our witness.” Just like that, it was done.

 

It did not feel different to be 'one' with someone. The world did not shift. The kisses were not sweeter, and the embraces were not tighter. In the eyes of the Rohirrim, they were married, but it would not be until the wedding ceremony and coronation that she would be their Queen. There was more to come as there always was. Ella marvelled at her husband, at the fact that they lay together in grass that smelled sweet, on things that were soft and gazed at a sky that was bright with stars. She marvelled that the world seemed right and that she would have someone for when it shifted to wrong. She marvelled that her someone was brave and strong and good, that he was intuitive and grounded and smart. That he was callous and stubborn and prideful. She could not have imagined this on the fields of Pelennor. She had not known then that a person could be filled with so much hope.

 

Éomer lay with his arms around his dusty wife. Her hair was bound and her hands were tight in his own, and her face was clean and shining and her eyes were half closed with happiness and sleepiness. He thought of all he had lost. He thought of how harsh the world had been and how uncertain the path. He thought of how often he had wandered in darkness. He thought of this strange imp of a girl who had turned into a woman. He thought of how she was kind and clever and made him laugh. Of how she was impulsive and weak and selfish. He thought of how he would love her, of how they would fill the house of Éol with joy again. He thought of the world as it had been, and as it was now.

Somehow, it all seemed to make sense.

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
